


Fixer-Upper

by NorthernLights37



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Everyone lives in Winterfell, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holiday Mentions, Humor, Minor Angst, Modern AU, Modern-Day Westeros, Pining and Kidding Themselves About It, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernLights37/pseuds/NorthernLights37
Summary: When Dany and Jon are fixed up by friends, they quickly realize they have only one thing in common:  they want nothing to do with dating, each other or anyone else.  Eventually, tired of the merry-go-round of blind dates, they hatch a plan together.  Pretend to fall for each other and escape the world of horrible, endless first dates, for the small price of showing up together at occasional functions.  But soon, they find themselves in a situation they never anticipated.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 169
Kudos: 649





	1. Absolutely Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riry_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riry_7/gifts).



> Yet another Modern AU from yours truly. And yeah, I know I could split this up into endless small chapters and string all of us along, but I don't know, it's the holidays and I have a shit load of cooking to do in the next few days so this will just be two chunky sections. I hope you enjoy - I haven't gotten to do much in the world of 'fake dating' and this has been lingering on my HD for longer than I care to remember, begging for completion. And I, as always, am a sucker for begging.
> 
> Enjoy Part 1. Part Two next week, sluts. Happy Turkey Day if that's your thing. If not, oh well, eat some fucking pie anyway :)
> 
> PS - HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY ERIKA IS THIS TOO BELATED TO BE A BELATED BIRTHDAY GIFT? If so, sorry, my ass stays late hahahahahah

* * *

Dany stared around the garishly decorated pizza parlor for the millionth time, praying for some sort of divine intervention.

She could kill Margaery, she really, truly could.

Sipping half-heartedly at her beer, the cool glass bottle sweating condensation against her hand, she glanced at the man across the table from her. He was alright, she guessed. If she had a type, at this point, maybe he’d be in the ballpark, but still.

She didn’t have a type, not right now, maybe not ever again, honestly, and she couldn’t grasp why her friend refused to accept it.

Well, she knew why. She just didn’t like it.

Margaery was in L-O-V-E love with the auburn-haired man she was gazing at adoringly across the table. Dany was pretty certain that if she peeked under the pitted, scarred wooden tabletop that her friend was probably doing something nauseating like playing footsie with her boyfriend Robb.

They were cute, sure. Sickeningly sweet and completely besotted with each other, and okay, whatever, that was great for Margaery. But since Dany had decided she needed to get the fuck out of Essos and away from her absolute horror show of an ex-husband, like, as far away as possible, her best friend seemed determined to force Dany into some disney-themed storybook romance of her own, and it was getting really old.

Daenerys had assumed that the frigid cold of Winterfell might be as complete a sea change from her old life as she could hope for, but the current situation was disturbingly familiar, being set up on some stupid double date with a complete stranger, suffering through awkward silences only occasionally broken by more awkward conversation.

Margaery just needed to get it through her annoying, if well-intentioned little head that Dany just WAS NOT INTERESTED. 

She tore her eyes away from her musings and the peeling label of her beer bottle when Robb piped up. “So, Dany,” he started, eyes bright with false interest, “How long since your divorce?”

His sudden wince and the thud that sounded from under the table made Dany about ninety percent sure Marg had just kicked her boyfriend in the shin, and it was enough for her to paste on a fake smile of her own. “A year, actually. Best year of my life.”

A quick, huffing laugh had eyes shooting towards Robb’s cousin, a guy so quiet and stone-faced that Dany thought he might possibly be some sort of serial killer. Maybe a robot. Marg had tried to fix her up eight times now, and this was the first guy who hadn’t been all cheesy grins and stupid pick-up lines. Nice enough in terms of looks, if she was looking, which she wasn’t, but she quirked her lips in a tiny smile when their eyes met. Was he finally going to talk? All he’d said so far was his dinner order, and she wondered if maybe he was just on the simple side.

“Cool,” Robb said, throwing Marg an emphatic look. “I think it’s been about the same for Jon here.”

For his part, the raven-haired Jon just shrugged and pursed his lips at Dany, and finished off his beer. When he seemed to feel the weight of Robb’s stare he sighed lightly and rolled his eyes. “Never been happier, honestly.”

Dany laughed under her breath, checking her watch and wondering exactly how long this torture was going to last until she was finally free to go home and soak in a hot bath, and sleep in her big, cozy bed, with all that glorious mattress real estate to herself.

Someday, maybe Margaery would finally listen when Dany told her she was absolutely, completely happy being on her own. She wasn’t just single, she was BLISSFULLY single, and she was determined to savor every single day that she didn’t have to share a bathroom and she could watch whatever the hell she wanted and if she decided to eat cereal for dinner, well, fuck, she could go nuts on some Captain Crunch.

The good Captain was, to date, the most reliable man in her life, and she wanted to keep it that way.

She picked at the remaining piece of pizza on her plate, attempting one last bite before she decided she’d had enough of everything. She stood, quickly, before Marg could realize what was going on and try to stop her. “Nice to meet you, Robb,” Dany said briskly, grabbing for the dark wool coat and tossing it on, ignoring the way Margaery was clearing her throat lightly and trying to get her attention. She flicked her eyes to the man she was fairly certain might actually be a statue. “Joe.”

“Jon,” Robb corrected quickly, and Dany grimaced slightly.

“Sorry, Jon,” she said, and snagged the strap of her purse. “Nice to meet you both, but I’m afraid I need to head out.” Dany squeezed a friendly hand on Marg’s shoulder. “Talk to you later,” she told her friend.

“Dany, wait!” Margaery was nearly frantic, and grabbed for her hand, and honestly, it was just getting embarrassing at this point. “Hey, Jon,” Margaery said with clearly forced brightness, “Dany only lives a few blocks from here, why don’t you walk her home? You know, get some air? Chat?”

Daenerys had not slapped Margaery since college, but she could feel the urge building. “That seems unnecessary, Marg,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, no that’s a great idea,” Robb said, and slapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder who was now frowning heavily.

The only silver lining Dany could see in this entire situation was that Robb’s practically mute cousin seemed even less enthused by the idea than she herself was.

The two men glared at each other for several long moments, before Jon finally huffed out an aggravated “Fine” and rose, taking his own jacket from the back of the chair and jerking it on.

“C’mon,” he muttered, passing by Dany briskly and heading to the door of the pizza joint, the bell ringing loudly overhead as they passed through. Robb’s cousin stood on the sidewalk, looking at her expectantly, and she realized with a flash of embarrassment that he was waiting on her to lead the way.

“It’s just this way,” she said shortly, and shoved her hands in her pockets, letting the ensuing silence linger between them as they walked quickly through the chilly night air. Three streets down her new home came into view, an older craftsman-style that she’d fallen in love with when she’d been house hunting, but which needed a fair amount of work.

She found herself thankful that the man at her side was so quiet, and seemed, as well, to hold as little interest in small talk as she did.

But when she came to a stop, the click of her boot heels finally dying away on the concrete sidewalk, he drew in a breath and stared at her solemnly. “Look,” he said, “I’m sure you’re a really nice person and everything, and I mean this in the least-assholish way possible, but I’m just really not interested in dating you.”

Dany let out a sigh of relief, and felt a huge smile steal across her lips. “Oh, thank GOD,” she breathed out. “I didn’t even want to come tonight, but frankly I got tired of Margaery’s harassment. I have zero interest in dating you, either.” She winced a little at how harsh she sounded, and tried to soften it a bit. “No offense.”

She swept a hand around her face, the wind picking up and blowing strands of silver hair against her lips, and laughed a little at the way the quiet man’s face seemed to light up with his own clear relief. “None taken,” he said, and he actually had a nice smile, she noticed, for a potential serial killer. “Nice meeting you, Dany,” he said, and stuck his hand out, giving her a friendly shake before he took off down the sidewalk.

Was he whistling? She snorted and unzipped her purse, heading up the walk and fishing out her keys, her enormous tub and a bottle of wine calling her name. “You too, Joe.”

“Jon,” he called out, and laughed. “Have a good night!”

He was whistling, she realized, and shook her head as she entered the safe, quiet haven of her house, ready to put the night behind her.

The truth was, she absolutely adored being single, and she’d stay that way as long as she liked, and Marg would just have to get over it.

\-----------

Two weeks later, well after she had let her dearest friend down with the news that she had NOT lured Robb’s cousin into her home and ridden his dick ‘til the sun came up (the notion that she even might have had earned Marg a fifteen minute glare and the silent treatment for three days), she woke up, warm and content with blankets piled on top of her body, limbs spread wide as she lingered in bed for just a bit longer.

She loved Saturdays, as a rule, and the persistent chill of the air this far North, even in summer, meant she could proceed with her fixer-upper projects without sweating her ass off, something she didn’t miss a bit about life in Pentos.

Dany threw on some worn-out jeans and a t-shirt, sticking her long silver hair in a messy ponytail and grabbing for her jacket and purse on the way out. She smiled as she went, because she always smiled these days.

Filing for divorce from Daario had been the best move she’d ever made, and she was determined that this new life she was making for herself was going to be lived on no other terms but hers. If she wanted to leave without makeup, in ratty clothes, no one was there to give her a skeptical eye.

It was absolutely liberating.

She drove her old beater of a sedan down to the hardware store, her list tucked into her purse, the day seeming full of possibilities. Moving and unpacking had taken up much of her time these last few months, along with making plans for the renovations she wanted to do, and it was finally, blessedly, time to begin.

Dany didn’t exactly have a lot of experience in that department, but honestly, that’s what YouTube videos and, in an emergency, a few hired hands were for.

The store she sought was out on the edge of town, near the city limit, a large, old-timey brick structure with a gravel parking lot that was fairly empty for a Saturday morning.

It was as she walked toward the storefront, her eyes trailing across the hand-painted sign that lined the roof, that she felt a little whisper of recognition, one she couldn’t quite place. ‘Snow’s Hardware’ seemed a fitting enough name for a shop in a town called Winterfell, but she squinted, thinking she was missing something.

She realized precisely what that ‘something’ was when she walked into the store, and electronic ding announcing her entrance, a harried voice calling that someone would be right with her.

And out he came, sweating, hair loose and curly around his head, like a dark halo. Jon Snow, in the flesh, because of course, this was his hardware store.

She gave a half-hearted wave as his eyes widened in recognition, and his hands fell to his hips, his own eyes narrowing as if he were trying to place her.

“Joe Snow,” she said, and his eyes flared in recognition, his lips twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or correct her. She raised her hands to halt him. “Sorry, I know it’s Jon, I just couldn’t resist.”

Jon blew out a breath, looking at her skeptically. “How can I help you, Daenerys?” His eyes darted around the brightly lit store, the ceiling lined with fluorescent lights that illuminated aisle after aisle of hardware, tools, and supplies. “Looking for something in particular?”

She gave him as friendly a smile as she could muster, and pulled her list from her purse, waving the lined sheet of paper in the air. “Actually, I am.” Mutely, he reached a hand towards her, and she bit back a laugh, relieved that at least he remained just as he had the night of their disastrous fix-up.

She’d suffered through two more since then, and at least she could say that her evening with Jon had, at least, ended on a high note, a mutual understanding between them.

Jon scanned the list, then strode for the counter, grabbing a clipboard, and heading for an aisle. She stood, unsure as to what he was doing, exactly, since he certainly didn’t seem capable of basic communication. When he realized she wasn’t following, he cocked a head at her, towards aisle three. “Well, come on then,” he barked, and she followed, begrudgingly, noting that while he was probably the most sour, disagreeable man she’d met, he had an excellent ass. His jacket had obscured the view the other night, but she could objectively admit that his butt would probably partially make up for his dismal personality, for the right woman.

That woman was not her, though, and she instead turned her attention to the small display of drawer pulls he’d led her to. “Go ahead and take a look,” he grunted, his eyes glued to her list. “I can pull most of this from the back while you choose.” Fleetingly, his gaze caught hers, and he looked away quickly. “You bring a pickup for all this?”

Dany hissed in a breath through her teeth, wincing slightly. “Ah, no actually. I was hoping I could arrange for delivery, on the bigger items.”

He looked at her fully, then, mildly irritated, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can set that up, but not ‘til 3:00 or so. Only have one driver and he’s booked up until then.”

She shrugged, mildly disappointed that she wouldn’t get to dive right into her DIY heaven immediately, but she would get over it. She always did. “That’s fine.” At least she could get started on some things, like replacing all the horrid brass drawer pulls in her kitchen with something nicer. She eyed the selection before her, effectively dismissing him, and was relieved when she glanced up again to find him gone.

She grinned to herself. She’d give Jon Snow this: he was very good at disappearing when she most wanted him to.

Thirty minutes later she’d filled a small shopping basket with a few tools, some screws and nails, and enough hardware to outfit her kitchen cabinets. She’d swiped a few paint samples, as well, itching to redo the garish yellow walls in her dining room, and the godawful sage green of the living area.

For his part, Jon Snow had gathered the other items on her list, and filled out a pick list of what would be loaded onto a truck and delivered to her door later in the day. She wound her way up to the front counter, where he was waiting, tallying up her purchases, barely glancing at her as she emptied the smaller items she’d picked up onto the pitted wooden top.

His fingers were flying as they tapped prices into the register keypad, and when the final price was reached he let out a low whistle and peeked up at her, wary. “Comes to $1,455.72. I don’t do payment plans, just so you know.”

Dany rolled her eyes and pulled out her checkbook, thankful for the meager inheritance she’d managed to keep squirrelled away, the only kind thing her parents had ever managed, really, and grabbed a pen from the battered copper cup by the register. “Don’t need one.” She flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder, quickly jotting out a check for the full amount, barely refraining from writing a note about what an asshole he was on the memo line.

She pasted on a false, bright smile as she handed it over, along with her driver’s license, and watched him study the check, his brows knitting together as his eyes narrowed. “This address shows Pentos. Doesn’t match this.” He waved her license at her questioningly.

“Oh, um,” she stuttered, off guard. It hadn’t been a problem in the past, and she so rarely wrote checks from that account that it had completely escaped her that she needed to update the checks. She would when she re-ordered. “That’s where I used to live. I haven’t gotten my new checks in yet.”

For a few minutes he said nothing, but she could see he was biting at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he relented, grunting out his assent as he carefully copied her license number onto the paper and handed back her ID. “Well, at least if this bounces, I know where to find you.”

The reminder of their ill-fated setup weeks ago made her laugh awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess so. Margaery’s already back at it. I’ve already shot down two more suggestions. I mean, what is so wrong about just wanting to enjoy your own time? It’s like she thinks I’m one more Saturday night by myself away from jumping off my roof.”

That earned her a groan in response, and Jon straightened, crossing his arms across his chest, looking cross but animated at the only thing they seemed to have in common. “Don’t get me started. Robb’s even worse, you wouldn’t believe some of the women he’s tried to set me up with.” Jon shuddered, and wrinkled his nose. “His only literal requirement is that they be single. That’s it. Single and breathing. So,” he shrugged, “maybe two requirements.”

He looked as put-upon as she felt, gray eyes flashing as he managed to brood sullenly and bag her items at the same time. It was nice, at least, to have some commiseration, that at least one other person in this town understood that being part of a ‘couple’ was completely unnecessary to a happy and fulfilling life. “The bar is on the floor,” she drawled, and that earned a begrudging laugh out of the man who was currently tossing her drawer pulls into a plastic sack.

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. Her items now bagged, he shoved them across the counter top to her, tearing off a receipt and tossing it in the bag, along with the carbon of the larger items that would need to be delivered. “So, listen, I’m a little short-staffed today, but like I said before, my delivery guy can have this stuff over to you by 3. Maybe 4 at the latest.” He paused, studying his watch and cocking his head, “That work?”

“Sure,” she said, and gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” She held up the paint samples, a few bright choices standing starkly against the white border. “I’ll be back next week for paint, probably.”

He eyed the swatches curiously, then locked eyes with her. “What’s all this for, anyway?” He gestured vaguely towards her bags and the list of items he’d drawn up.

She squinted at him, already fishing in her purse for her car keys, only halfway listening as she began to move towards the glass doors. “Ah, you know,” she said vaguely, thinking he was being more than a little nosy, “my new place is kind of a fixer-upper.”

Dany figured she’d be in for some sort of ‘little lady’ lecture, but Jon Snow surprised her, nodding and shrugging as he turned back to the register. “Cool,” he answered absently, pulling out his phone and beginning to thumb through messages. “Good luck,” he said, without looking up, and she felt oddly relieved as she walked out into the chilly morning air and to her car. His lack of interest overall was refreshing.

If only Margaery could be the same. Maybe by the time she hit her hundredth ‘No’ in the date department her best friend would get the hint.

\------------

Dany looked around the dining room, devoid of furniture, and covered in curling strips of old, tacky wallpaper she’d peeled from the wall. Around her was an assortment of scorning knives and sponges, a bucket of water that had splashed all over the carpet she’d planned on ripping up anyway, her hands sticky from the old glue she’d been removing from the increasingly bare walls.

She sighed and blew out a breath, upward, to the hair that was sticking to her sweaty face.

“What a fucking mess,” she said, Drogon’s answering meow the only sound in the room besides the radio she had on low volume, over on the table beside the open window.

A knock at the door surprised her, and she pulled out her phone, checking the time. She frowned, and pulled off her work gloves, setting them and her phone on the antique little stand she’d found to go beside the front door, and checked the peephole.

The fact that it was Jon Snow, his hands laden with paint cans, his face a study in impatience, made her chuckle lightly. _Must be short-staffed again_ , she thought to herself, as she unlocked the chain and deadbolt and threw open the heavy wooden door.

She’d seen him here and there in the two weeks since she’d shown up at his hardware store: once, in passing at the grocery store, giving him a small wave and moving on down the aisle as they passed each other near the bread, once at the bank, giving him a nod as he finished with the teller and she stepped up, next in line, and once at his store, yesterday, to order paint to go on the walls she was laying bare throughout the house.

“Hey,” she said, and swiped her hand across her forehead, at the hair still stubbornly sticking to her skin. “Right this way.” She waved him in, pointing to a spot in the foyer for him to leave the cans of paint she’d requested, thrilled at the sight, though she wasn’t quite ready to get it on the wall yet. He didn’t say a word, just nodded and headed back out through the door, returning a few seconds later with the rollers and brushes she needed, and set them down beside the paint.

“I think that’s it,” he said, pulling a list from his back pocket and methodically checking each item off. He held out the list, the ‘Snow’s Hardware’ logo across the top matching the one on the heather gray t-shirt he wore, untucked above the jeans he seemed to always wear. “Sign here.”

A pen was furnished, and she scrawled her name at the bottom, handing it back just as her phone dinged loudly. “So, you playing delivery boy today?” She kept her eyes glued to her screen as she saw a new message from Margaery, flicking her eyes up to see him tucking away the receipt in his back pocket. Ordinarily she’d worry she was being rude, but the nice thing she’d noticed about Jon Snow was he really didn’t seem to care. Interacting with him didn’t carry the normal burdens of rapt attention and fake sincerity that existed elsewhere, and she was finding it easier to be grateful for that. Then she read the message and groaned loudly, cursing under her breath, looking up to find him watching her curiously.

“Something wrong?” He didn’t look at her long, seeming more distracted by the various pockets of chaos visible from the entryway.

She shook her head, shoving her phone in her back pocket forcefully, aggravated. “Just Marg. She’s having some party and insisting I come, and I’m sure you can guess the rest. She has a few ‘very nice fellows’ that can accompany me.” She made air quotes with her fingers, rolling her eyes before she met his. She was surprised to see something sheepish in his expression.

“Ah, yeah, Robb too, actually, which is kinda why I made this delivery myself.” As she watched he shifted, nervously, one of his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. “I have a proposition for you.”

She was immediately on high alert, but managed to hide it with a smirk. “Why do I get the impression I’m not going to like this?”

With a whooshing exhale, he crossed the room into the kitchen, gesturing to the small, square table surrounded by mismatched chairs. “Can we sit?”

For a moment, she hesitated, nearly POSITIVE now that she wasn’t going to be a fan of whatever it was he wanted to discuss, but in the end a rather morbid sense of curiosity got the better of her, so she pulled out a chair and sat, gesturing for him to do the same.

“Okay, so here’s the thing.” She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but the way he began to drum his fingers on the tabletop proved too distracting. “I’m fucking sick of all these fix-ups. It’s been non-stop since, like a month after my divorce, and short of telling a blood relative to absolutely fuck off I’ve tried everything.” The hand not fidgeting on the table top swept through his dark, curly hair. “So the way I see it is there’s only one option out there. And,” he swallowed hard, pausing until she looked up at him fully, “I think we’re in the same boat.”

He had a point. She was at her wit’s end with Margaery, and if the woman hadn’t been her friend since middle school she might’ve already told her to kick rocks, but it hadn’t seemed like a great strategy to alienate one of the only close friends she had in the area. “Okay,” she drawled, and propped her chin up with her hand, planting her elbow on the table and studying him. “What do you have in mind?”

He kissed his teeth and scratched at the short, bristling hair along his jaw. “Lying,” he said shortly, bluntly. “Lots of lying. Subterfuge. Covert operations.”

Dany let out a confused laugh and leaned back, crossing her arms against the splattered front of her sweatshirt. “You wanna clarify that? You make it sound like you want to rob a bank, or kidnap someone.” She arched a brow at him. “And for either of those options, I’m afraid I just don’t know you well enough to agree.”

Jon barked out a laugh of his own and held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Okay, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I think it might work. What if you and I,” he waggled a finger between them, “pretended to date. If we convince Marg and Robb that we’re together, we buy each other a whole mountain of peace. Just think about it,” he rushed on, quickly, as she parted her lips to interrupt him. “No more fix-ups with weirdos, and awkward couple dates with strangers, or the constant calls and texts just to ‘see how you’re doing’ because everyone thinks you’re SO lonely.”

Dany tilted her head consideringly. Her first instinct was to tell him to shove it, that she was so far-removed from the desire to date anyone that even pretending sounded like way more trouble than it was worth, but....

...It did sound nice, what he was suggesting. No more wasting everyone’s time with pointless dates that weren’t going anywhere, worried about the random wandering hand or some rando trying to get in her pants or at the very least score her phone number. No more thinking up increasingly outlandish excuses not to go places because she didn’t want some pity date that frankly wasn’t required.

It was crazy, honestly. Immature. But it just might be crazy enough to work.

She gnawed on her bottom lip and thought, hard, for a few seconds, drawing her knee up into the chair seat and leaning her head against it. “Okay, let’s say I agree. How long do we keep this up for? I don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend, pretend or otherwise, forever.”

Jon hummed under his breath consideringly. “Let’s say six months, max. They’ll probably break up by then, anyway. So, let’s call it six months OR whenever they split up, which they will, knowing Robb. Whichever comes first.”

She struggled to find the flaw in this plan, a reason to say no. She supposed she ought to be averse to lying to Marg, but it almost seemed like the lesser of two evils. And what harm could it do, really? It would get both Marg and Robb off their backs, and at the end of the day, it wasn’t like they would be hurting anyone. If anything, they were doing each other a massive favor, so it didn’t seem to her that she’d even owe Jon, anything, really. They were scratching each other’s backs here, nothing more.

Dany raised a hand and toyed with the silver hoop of her earring. “Okay, but I have conditions.”

Jon grunted and looked mildly offended. “Well, so do I, naturally.” He narrowed his eyes and folded his hands together on top of the table. “What are yours?”

Drogon chose that moment to saunter in, his black fur speckled with silver on his face, showing his age. He rubbed against Dany’s chair legs and threw a suspicious glare at Jon, then bolted from the room when Jon returned the look steadily. “No wandering hands. Pretend dating doesn’t mean you can just grab my ass in public.”

Her brows rose in surprise when Jon’s shoulders sagged in relief and he smiled. “Thank the Gods. Yeah, I don’t do PDA. At all. We can hold hands, that’s it.” He lifted his hand, ticking off a finger, then continued. “Also, no cutesy pet names.” Another finger raised. “I reserve the right to back out of any plans with 24-hour’s notice.” One more finger flicked up. “I don’t go to anything that requires dressing up beyond business casual.”

Eyes wide, she let out a silent huff. “Anything else?”

Jon shook his head ruefully, and grinned. “I think that covers it. I’ll let you know if I have anymore immediate no-no’s. Does that mean we have a deal?”

If anyone had told her, the night of her first introduction to this man parked at her kitchen table and proposing that they embark upon something like this, she’d have called them absolutely fucking insane.

But here she was, agreeing, and disturbingly relieved when she extended a hand across the wood-grain tabletop and felt his warm, rough palm press against her own. “Deal,” she said firmly, and stood. “Now get out, I have work to do.”

\------------

That night, after a delightful evening of a whole bottle of wine to herself and several episodes of the Essosi baking show she’d become addicted to binging, she climbed into bed and settled against her pillows. There really wasn’t much better than a big bed with fresh clean sheets, that she didn’t have to share.

Her phone dinged, and she gritted her teeth, having already endured one endlessly excited barrage of texts from Marg when she’d messaged earlier to let her know that she didn’t need a date for her friend’s upcoming party, that instead she’d be attending with the one and only Jon Snow. With the way Margaery had freaked out, Dany was at least halfway convinced the woman was already plotting out the dual wedding they’d hold.

However, it wasn’t Marg, and while the caller ID said ‘unknown number’ it wasn’t hard to work out who was messaging her, since the culprit announced himself immediately.

_Unknown: This is Jon_

_Unknown: Jon Snow_

_Unknown: in case you know several_

Dany grinned and sat up, shoving a pillow behind her head and rubbing her cheek against Drogon’s silky fur when he came to perch on her shoulder. She quickly saved him as a contact on her phone, then began tapping at the keyboard.

_Dany:...that’s funny I only know a Joe Snow_

She cackled as Drogon purred into her ear, filled with delight at the opportunity to needle him. 

“He’s going to have to get used to it,” she whispered to Drogon, waiting for her newly-minted fake boyfriend to reply. It almost seemed silly to think if him as that. He certainly didn’t look like a boy. For fuck’s sake she was almost 30, and she didn’t imagine he was younger. But manfriend sounded silly, so boyfriend it was.

_Jon: ah an aspiring comedian_

_Jon: don’t worry, if you keep at it I’m sure one day you’ll make someone laugh_

Dany pulled a face and peeked back at Drogon. “I’m already regretting agreeing to this.”

_Dany: did you actually need something or are you just helpfully reminding me why I prefer to remain single?_

Three little bubbles danced on the screen for what seemed like ages, but finally, his response appeared.

_Jon: well first off sure, and you’re very welcome for the reminder that the solo lifestyle is preferable. But no actually I realized we have to go to this fucking party on Wednesday and I’m busy Monday and Tuesday. Can you come by the store tomorrow so we can cover the basics?_

Dany squinted into the glow of the screen.

_Dany: the basics?_

_Jon: uh, yeah. I don’t even know what you do. Probably need to get some details from each other if we’re gonna make this believable._

It was a valid point, and it wasn’t like she had any pressing plans for her Sunday, besides more endless wallpaper stripping and maybe getting a coat of primer up if she had time. She chewed on her thumbnail, head wobbling back and forth as she considered.

But her consideration was chased by a snort of laughter as she realized he really had been paying zero attention during their awful date.

_Dany: I’m wounded, truly. Pretty sure I remember Marg very proudly proclaiming exactly what it is I do._

She snickered as she waited for a response, snuggling back against the pillow behind her as his reply appeared.

_Jon: Oops._

_Jon: Sorry about that._

Shaking her head, she typed quickly, ready to be done with Jon Snow for the day, and this precarious little situation she was apparently getting herself into.

_Dany: No worries. I had no idea until I showed up at your store that you owned it, so…_

_Dany: What time should I come by?_

_Jon: Around 1?_

That worked, she guessed, and she quickly gave her agreement before clicking the lock screen and plugging her phone in to the charger on her nightstand. She turned off the lamp, smiling to herself as Drogon curled around her head, his loud, noisy purring lulling her to sleep.

\------------

Snow’s Hardware was surprisingly busy for an early Sunday afternoon, and when she saw the cluster of old ladies at the register, Jon looking slightly harried, she laughed under her breath and walked farther into the store, finding a selection of shelf paper to pick through until he was free.

But even from a distance, she could hear the way the gaggle of senior ladies was cooing over him, as he hefted a bag of fertilizer on each shoulder, and began to back through the glass door, clearly taking the heavy items to their car.

And she couldn’t help but chuckle as they remarked on what STRONG ARMS he had, and wasn’t he just the nicest boy, carrying those out for them? Her very favorite was the lecherous little laugh one of the women gave and pointed to his backside as they followed him out the door. He did have a decent ass, Jon Snow, though clearly these ladies didn’t know how absolutely insufferable he seemed to be most of the time.

Jon’s cheeks were red above the line of his short beard when he returned, frowning heavily as he looked up to fine her watching him, endlessly amused. “Shut it,” he said gruffly, and waved her up.

Dany leaned on the counter, lips pressed together tight to hold back a loud laugh, and leaned on her hand. “Oh my, as your fake girlfriend should I be worried about the competition? They seemed VERY fond of you.” 

He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “One of them pinched my ass while I was loading their bags into the trunk. Why don’t you go out there before they leave and defend my honor?”

She barked out a laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth as he glared down at her. “Sorry,” she gasped, shaking her head. “I can’t take all three of them.” His expression didn’t budge, he just continued brooding as he restocked the plastic bags at the counter. “Hey, look on the bright side,” she chirped, folding both arms on the counter now and grinning at him, “I’m sure if they got to know you they’d change their minds.”

“Very funny,” he griped, and pretended to laugh, before his sour look returned. “So, how’s the children’s book game going?” His sudden, smug smile brought her up short.

“No way you remembered that,” she said dryly. “You googled me, didn’t you?”

She could see him try to decide which way to answer, his expression wavering until he finally shrugged, bemused. “Yeah. There are surprisingly few Daenerys Targaryens, so it wasn’t all that hard to find you.” He finished fiddling with the plastic sacks and gave a cursory look to the pair of customers milling around the nails and screws. “Sounds kinda cool, I guess. You like the gig?”

Now it was Dany’s turn to shrug, trying to figure out if he was trying to give her shit about her job. It wouldn’t be the first time. She’d lost count of how many times people had gotten that telltale look when they learned she illustrated children’s books, like that meant she had to be some unserious person who drew what amounted to, in their minds, cartoons. But she’d gotten her Art Degree in Pentos, had spent a few years doing graphic design for several firms in Essos before Rhaegar, her brother, had come to her with an idea.

Five years, a divorce, and a continental move later, and ‘The Very Grumpy Dragon’ series of children’s books had become so popular Rhaegar had been able to quit his 9-to-5 office job altogether. And she, thankfully, had made a little bank herself, along with a few other contract jobs for other popular children’s authors who liked the ‘feel’ of her work.

It was enough that she’d been able to quit temping to fill in the gaps between assignments, and no matter what anyone else thought, she was proud of what she did. It was fun, and rewarding, and it made her happy, and she’d finally gotten to a point in her life where she stopped giving a shit about other people’s opinions.

Mostly.

“Yeah,” she said breezily, tracing her forefinger along the countertop on figure eights. “Pays decent and I like the work. Can’t really ask for much more than that.” She glanced around the shop, taking in the fluorescent strip lighting and plaster walls decorated with signage for what she assumed were tool brands. “What about you? Have you always aspired to being the hardware magnate of Winterfell?”

Jon kissed his teeth and sighed, his persistent frown returning. “Not really. I was in the Northern Army for a few years, came back here. Buddy of mine owned this place and wanted to retire, and I thought, ‘fuck it, why not’, so I bought him out.” As she watched he pulled out a new roll of register tape and started loading it, obviously unperturbed by the way she was gaping at him.

“You just...bought the store.” 

He glanced at her, as his fingers continued working. “Yep.”

It seemed foreign to her, the completely blase way he addressed such a major life choice. Gods, she’d stayed married a year longer than she should have, too scared of the unknown to just take the leap and rip the band-aid off. She analyzed everything she did, too much sometimes. Blinking several times, and shaking her head, she laughed. “Just like that?”

Jon snorted, and met her eyes. He had interesting eyes, really, a dark gray, that made her thing of hard, unyielding iron. “Mostly. Had a big fucking fight with my ex-wife over it.” He gave her a mean, brittle smile that made his teeth snap together. “The fact that she hated the idea so much probably tipped it over the edge for me.”

Ah, spite, one of her new favorite motivators. In the past year she’d done quite a few things solely out of spite, and she could admit in a mean, petty way, that it was an addictive thing. She matched his evil smile with one of her own. “A perfectly good reason, then.”

He seemed amused and more than a little pleased by her response, by their kindred appreciation for the intoxicating beauty of spite. “See, I knew you’d get it. Okay,” he said briskly, “moving on. Parents?”

She stiffened; This was definitely a touchy subject for her, one she didn’t want to dissect at his register. “What about them?”

Jon paused and studied her, then rounded the counter, waving for her to follow him into the bowels of the store. He pulled a boxcutter from his back pocket and cut open a plastic-sealed stack of boxes that sat tucked away in a dark corner, peeling back the covering before he clarified what he was asking. “Are they alive? Dead? Circus performers, maybe?”

Her jaw worked for a few moments, and she kept her eyes on her shoes, the tip of one sneaker wiggling nervously on polished concrete floor. “Dead,” she said bluntly. She braced herself for the usual response, the pitying look, the empty apologies for her loss, but it didn’t come.

Instead, he gave her a small, barely-there half smile and nodded. “Me too.”

And that was it. 

Before she could think of anything to say he was moving on, unboxing what appeared to be tubes of caulk and stacking them onto a shelf. “Any pets? Besides what can only be described as the oldest, fattest cat I’ve ever seen?”

Dany drew up in mock offense, fighting off a laugh, because he wasn’t exactly wrong: Drogon was 13, and yes, a bit on the husky side, but that just made him even squishier. And since he’d outlived both his litter mates, Viserion and Rhaegal passing just before her divorce was finalized, within a few weeks of each other, she squished him a lot. 

“He’s big-boned,” she said warningly, pointing a finger at him. “And he’s not old, he’s just distinguished-looking.”

Jon let out a short laugh and finished with the caulk, reaching for another box as he side-eyed her. “I wasn’t insulting your cat, just an observation. I have a dog. Name’s Ghost. He’s big and white and old, too, and he sheds fucking everywhere.” He spared her another glance. “A little fact to bring up on Wednesday.”

Dany nodded, filing that nugget of information away. “Drogon has this persistent eye thing. I have to give him drops every day. It’s kind of gross in the mornings.”

“Got it.” Reaching for the final box, he looked at her expectantly. “You wanna help this time or you just wanna stand there and watch me work?”

Heaving a heavy sigh, she sidled up next to him, reaching for a tube and sliding it onto the shelf. “I don’t remember agreeing to THIS.” He seemed to enjoy her grumbling, and she noticed again that, objectively, he had a nice smile. He wasn’t bad to look at, on the whole, which would make this a lot easier. It was the sort of thing that might be unfortunately distracting, though, and so she focused instead on questioning him. “Any siblings?”

Jon paused his motion, hands hovering over a few tubes of caulk as he stilled. “No,” he finally said, shortly. “Just me.” When he began to move again, it was slowly, deliberately, his next words sounding as though they were being pulled from him. “My dad took off when I was one, and my mom, well,” he sighed and turned to her, only barely meeting her eyes. “She never got over it I guess. He died in a car accident in Dorne when I was five, or so I hear. My mom,” he cleared his throat, averting his eyes completely now as he picked up the empty box, “cancer when I was thirteen. I came to live with the Starks, after that. Robb’s father is my uncle.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, but she knew how empty and meaningless stupid platitudes could be. So instead, she offered information, something personal, just as he had. “I have two brothers. Rhaegar and Viserys. Both older. Rhaegar lives in Dorne, that’s where his wife is from, with his kids.” She plunked the tubes her in hand onto the shelf, and scuffed her shoe on the floor. “And, well, Viserys is in and out of trouble. I don’t know where he is right now. We aren’t close, me and Vis.”

She stepped back, feeling suddenly uncomfortable that she was telling a man she really didn’t know that well all this, but if they were going to pull off this crazy little plan they’d hatched, it was necessary. “My parents died in a boating accident two years ago, on the Narrow Sea.” She rolled her neck, and avoided his eyes. “We weren’t close, either.”

A loud clanging startled her, and she jumped, as a door near the back wall opened, two men walking out and chatting with each other before stopping short and gaping, eyes wide as they looked between Jon and Dany. “Hey, boss,” said one of them, slowly, a man with stringy, lank hair and paint-streaked coveralls. “Got that order done for the Karstarks. Who is this?”

He shot her a look that clearly meant she should play along, then faced the two men. “This is Dany.” He hooked a thumb in her direction before picking up the nearest empty box and beginning to break it down. “My girlfriend.”

It was very tempting to burst out laughing at the look of shock on both men’s faces, but she managed to contain it, as Jon glanced towards her. “Dany, that’s Edd,” he nodded towards the paint-splattered man,” and Grenn. They work for me.”

She gave a small wave, as the other man, larger than his friend, slapped a hand on Edd’s shoulder and started grinning. “Damn, boss.” He shot Jon a thumb’s up sign and let out a low whistle. “She’s hot.”

Dany grimaced as Jon glowered at both men. “Shut up and get back to work,” he said shortly, starting in on the next box. The men complied, but still threw several looks over their shoulder at Dany as they disappeared again, back through the door. “Sorry about that,” Jon said with a grunt, tossing the now-flat box on top of the other he’d completed. “They’re idiots.”

She shoved her hands in her jean pockets and snorted. “I’m gonna head out,” she said dryly, and started backing down the narrow aisle. “Still have a few things to do this afternoon. Call me later if there’s anything else I need to know before Wednesday.”

He didn’t even look up, just started breaking down the final box. “Will do,” he said, and she smiled to herself as she turned and headed for the front of the store. Jon Snow was a strange guy, that much she knew, but it was a strange she could deal with, because it was really refreshing, actually, to talk to someone without wondering if they were hitting on her, trying to play at being ‘friends’ only to try to weasel their way into her pants later.

She pushed through the door out into the afternoon sun, and let out a heavy breath, her smile growing as she walked to her car. With Jon Snow, she didn’t have to worry about that. Not at all.

\------------

Margaery had arrived in Winterfell a full year before Daenerys decided to make the move, and the headstart had given her oldest friend the chance to create a home for herself that was nothing short of magical. She’d bought an old Victorian, and had it renovated, had made her backyard into a garden oasis, something that ought to be featured in magazines, really.

But then, Margaery had always loved gardens. And that love was clear as Dany walked through the gate, stopping for a moment to just look around, her mouth open at the grandeur of it; Fountains and sculptures, lit artfully here and there throughout the landscaping, a large pond with fat, colorful koi, a fire pit at the heart of the space already crowded with guests. All around the perimeter the garden was strung with fairy lights, and it was magical, Dany thought. It was the first time she’d scene the full effect, and it made her smile.

At her side, Jon stood, tense, eyeing the crowd.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” He glanced at her as she spoke, frowning slightly, brow furrowed. “The garden.” She gestured, pursing her lips when Jon just shrugged.

“I guess.” He took a closer look, eyes bouncing around here and there, then met her gaze again. “Some of this shit isn’t going to make it through winter.”

“Killjoy.” The insult earned her a smile.

Jon shook his head. “More of a realist, actually. And those plants are fucked once the first snows hit.”

“Whatever.” She extended her hand towards him, her palm open expectantly. And then sighed in exasperation when he looked between her face and her hand, like he couldn’t fathom what she was doing. “Oh my god, dummy, hold my hand.”

He scoffed and scowled, but grudgingly took her hand, folding it in his own. She could feel the callouses on his fingers and palms, but what stood out the most was the thin layer of sweat, the clammy feel of his skin against hers.

“Are you nervous?”

Jon stared at her consideringly for a moment, then down at their joined hands. “I guess. Maybe a little. I just don’t like crowds.” His free hand rose and he rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing around at the clusters of people milling around and chatting loudly. “Or people, mostly.”

Dany smirked and squeezed his hand lightly. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I’d much rather be at home in my sweats than this.” She gestured to the light blue dress she’d worn, a white cardigan thrown over top, and looked down at her strappy shoes, the ones already making her toes ache. “But if this is what I have to do to get Marg off my back, well, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath and straightened. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

He looked nice, she thought, as they walked, if only slightly miserable, in a dark blue button-down and jeans. She felt a tug on her fingers and he nodded towards the center of the garden. “Drinks,” he said, before tugging her along as he made a beeline for the table.

They’d just retrieved a beer apiece, turning as one to try to find a spot where they might be visible but left alone, when a loud shriek pierced the air.

“DANY!”

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath, as Margaery’s excited yell seemed to draw every last set of eyes in that wonderfully decorated garden to where Jon and Dany now stood. She exchanged a look with the man beside her, who was grimacing and trying to pretend it was a smile, and switched her beer to her right hand so she could grab his with her left. “Okay, just like we talked about,” she muttered under her breath as her friend barreled towards them, Robb in tow. “Simple easy answers. How many dates have we been on?”

“Seven,” Jon whispered back, trying not to move his lips. “Dinner and movies. Bowling once. No sex yet.”

“Good,” she said and squeezed his hand, forcefully, pasting on her brightest smile as Margaery got near enough to hug her, then Jon, in turn.

“Oh my god, I am so excited to see you. Both of you.” She pursed her lips and gave Robb a smug look. “So, we’re waiting, you two.”

Jon narrowed his eyes and glanced at Dany curiously, then took a swig of his beer. “Waiting for what, exactly?”

Margaery began to smirk, as Robb let out a rueful laugh. “A thank you, of course,” Robb said, eyeing the pair of them as his girlfriend snuggled into his side. “We finally got it right, I think! I mean, I had high hopes, but seeing you together,” he sounded awfully wistful, now, and Dany looked over quickly to roll her eyes at Jon, who snorted, “Well, it’s like they’re made for each other, right, honey?”

“Right,” Marg said, and the pair exchanged a long, lingering kiss that made Dany feel a little embarrassed. She’d never been big on that, on the way some of her friends had enjoyed, over the years, attempting to tongue wrestle their boyfriends into submission, or grab at each other in front of everyone. When she looked back at Jon again he pretended to gag, and she had to press her lips tight together to stop herself from laughing.

“Oh, well of course, thank you soooooooooo much.” Jon’s sarcasm was clear, but apparently expected, as Robb broke free to deliver a friendly punch to his cousin’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome, asshole.” With a cheeky smile, Robb gestured around, clearly reading the vibe Jon was putting off, now, that ‘enough, already’ glower forming on Jon’s features. “So, does this place look great, or what?”

They found themselves led on a tour through the garden, nodding at appropriate times as they nursed their drinks, and they were finally separated when Marg demanded her help in the kitchen, and Robb absconded with Jon to gather more wood for the fire pit.

Under the bright lights of the kitchen she genuinely felt like the subject of a thorough and neverending interrogation. Margaery began a litany of intensely personal questioning, each trying to delve a bit deeper, and by the time she asked what Jon was like in bed Dany had reached her limit.

“I haven’t slept with him,” Dany said firmly, slapping her hand down on the tile countertop as Marg sliced carrots for a veggie tray. “But even if I had, which I _haven’t_ , I wouldn’t give you all the dirty details.”

Margaery gave a wicked laugh and popped a cherry tomato in her mouth. “I give it a month. Deep down you’re the biggest horndog in the world, Dany, no matter how much you try to keep up this whole ‘prim and proper’ thing.” She looked around, quickly, auburn hair swinging about her shoulders as she glanced both ways, as if ensuring they were alone. “Tell me you’ve at least gotten a nice handful of that ass.”

“Margaery!” Dany threw a celery stick at her friend, who began to giggle madly. “What is wrong with you?!”

Deep down, despite her mostly-feigned outrage, Daenerys could privately agree that if an ass existed that was made for grabbing, it was probably Jon’s. It really was exquisite. And there were at least three old women that lingered at Jon’s store who would agree with her. She laughed, as well, her shoulders sagging in defeat as she gave Marg a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll let you know if it’s as firm as it looks.” She punctuated the words by biting down on a strip of bell pepper. “Now settle down, you’ll embarrass him.”

Marg snickered and pointed to the second tray on the counter with her chin, her hands full with the first. “And we have to protect Jon’s precious feelings, yes, yes, of course.” She backed into the door, opening it, stepping out into the yard and clearly expecting Dany to follow. “But I expect a report on whether or not you could bounce a quarter off of his--”

“Here,” came Robb’s voice, and Margaery pulled a face at Dany quickly, obviously begging her not to divulge their most recent topic of conversation, as Robb took the tray from her hands. Belatedly, Jon stepped over and reached for the other, and he pulled a face as well, but his face yelled ‘Get me out of here!’.

As soon as Jon’s hands were free he was grabbing his beer of a nearby stained picnic table, a fresh one slipped into Dany’s grip, his other hand finding the small of her back and leading her away. “Excuse us,” he called back to the couple that had forced them into this silly arrangement in the first place, and he practically pushed her into a relatively secluded section of the garden, tucked into a corner created by two large rhododendrons. “Alright, how soon is too soon to leave?”

His urgent whisper made her laugh, and she allowed herself a long swallow of the pale ale before she answered. “Hmmm.” She made a show of checking her watch, then smirked at her ‘boyfriend’ in name only. “Call me crazy, but I think fifteen minutes after we show up might be a little early.”

“Really?” He frowned so heavily she was tempted to tell him to knock it off, that his face would freeze that way, but it would probably be a moot point. She was more than half certain it already had.

“Oh my Gods, Jon,” she breathed, amused and trying her best to sound irritated. “Are you serious?” When he nodded firmly she took another sip of beer and slipped against his side, hooking her thumb through the belt loop of his jeans and pretending to share some very intimate conversation as she scolded him half-heartedly. “How have you managed to function this long?”

He considered her question as he casually let his arm slip around her shoulder. His palm was warm, where it cupped that curve, and, well, it wasn’t the worst sensation in the world, so she stayed put. “By avoiding parties. And people, whenever possible.”

She hummed under her breath. “Makes sense,” she said dryly. “Okay, I have a deal for you,” she said coyly, tugging at his belt loop until he met her eyes.

“I feel like I’m going to regret this, but let’s hear it.”

“Thirty more minutes and I’ll pretend my stomach is upset and get us out of here,” she began, watching his eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“And?” He gave her a crooked smile, clearly knowing she would exact a price for such a service.

“And the next evening you have free time, you have to help me strip the rest of the wallpaper in my formal living room.” He grunted, scoffing, but she just held his stare, tipping her head. “That’s my price. Do we have a deal, or not?”

“Ugh.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Fine, deal. I’ll be by Friday after I close up the shop.”

She was nearly beside herself with glee, knowing that with the added hands (and height) she could probably coerce him into sticking around for a coat of primer, as well. “Ahhh,” she said, smug, and rested her head on his shoulder, noting the little smile and nudge Margaery gave Robb when she spotted them, knowing the picture they presented to the crowd. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

Jon bit at his lower lip, shaking his head slightly as he peered down at her, studying her closely. “Yeah,” he finally said quietly. “I’m definitely going to regret this.”

\-------------

Jon Snow was still grumbling when he arrived at her place at 6:00 p.m., on the dot, Friday evening. His truck was nearly as beat-up as her own late-model sedan, and it backfired loudly as he pulled to a stop in her driveway.

He scowled at her chipper ‘Hello’, when she greeted him on the porch, and she laughed devilishly as she let him inside. Playing the malcontent seemed to be what he preferred, but he let the mask slip, just a bit, as Drogon wound against his jean-clad legs.

“Hello, fat cat.” He dropped the tool belt in his hand in the corner, and reached down to scratch Drogon’s back.

Dany swatted him on his arm as she passed by, heading to the kitchen. “He is _husky_ , Jon. How dare you.” She heard his deep chuckle, even as she rounded the corner and could no longer see him. “You want a beer?”

“Five, please. Five beers. That is what I require.”

She laughed, grabbing only one for him, and returning to the front of the house. “No,” she said firmly, handing him a beer and cracking her own open. “If you want another beer you have to work for it.”

He made a face at her but she saw his lips twitch as he popped the can open and took a long swig. “Yeah, yeah.” Jon looked around the room, eyes tracking the progress she’d made, and blew out a breath. “Alright, well, let’s get to it, I’ve got a hot date with a microwave dinner to get to.”

Dany scoffed and went to the hall closet, pulling out the scrapers and the adhesive remover she’d stowed away. “I mean, if you try not to bitch constantly I’ll order pizza.”

That earned a real smile, but he tucked it away quickly, grabbing a scraper. “Fine,” he said curtly, “But, no weird shit on it.” He started working on the far wall, scoring the ugly patterned wallpaper that remained with a steady, even hand. 

She rolled her eyes and took the wall closest to her, and got to work.

\-------------

With Jon’s help, a small miracle had been achieved. Not only was the room now blissfully free of wallpaper, but he had, with minimal grousing, gone ahead and put on a coat of primer for her while she’d run to pick up their pizza.

He was rinsing out the roller when she got back, the bottom of the box almost scalding her hand, steam still rising when she raised the lid, her stomach growling. She grabbed a few paper plates and a stack of napkins from the kitchen cabinet, and a few more beers for good measure, before making her way to the dining room. Jon was standing in front of the box, eyes so ravenous she worried he might eat the whole thing on his own, and he fished a plate from her fingers before she could deposit all the items she carried on the table.

“Were you raised by wild animals?” He didn’t answer her sarcastic question, just jammed a slice of pizza into his mouth, groaning as he took an enormous bite, smiling around it. She raised her brows at him and primly pulled out a slice, setting it on her plate and taking a seat decorously.

“Close enough,” he managed, after he swallowed, and dropped into the chair opposite her. Drogon began his usual campaign of begging, and Dany steadfastly ignored his pitiful mewls, unlike Jon, who studied the cat for a moment before fishing a piece of sausage from his plate.

“Here you go, big man.” He’d tossed the meat to Drogon before she could stop him, but she kicked lightly at his leg under the table, leveling a finger at him when he looked up, scowling at her.

“He’s watching his weight, Jon. Don’t give him scraps.” 

Jon gave a pouting look to Drogon, who sat chewing happily on the sausage, and muttered “Spoilsport,” then dug in to the rest of his slice, leaving them both in a relatively easy quiet save for the occasional slurp from a beer can or smacking of lips.

Once he’d finished his third piece he leaned back, drumming his fingers idly on the table. “So…..,” he said, almost lazily, and she braced herself, because by now she’d known him long enough to know that the look on his face meant he was about to ask something she wouldn’t like. “Can I ask you something?”

She wiped at her mouth with the paper napkin and leaned back as well, crossing her arms, nose wrinkling as she studied him. “I doubt you’ll take no for an answer, so go head.” She took another swallow of her beer, arching a brow, waiting.

“I would very much like to know why you got divorced.” He sounded so formal, all of a sudden, folding his hands together on the table, an odd reverence given to the question, as if he realized it was likely a very sore subject. And, she supposed, if anyone understood what sort of horrible relationship might make one inclined to remain single for the rest of their days, it was Jon.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat, eyes falling to the rind of crust still littering her plate. “Alright. Well, it’s like this. We met in college, I was lonely, he said all the right things.” She began to twist the napkin around her fingers, uncomfortable, but fully intending to press him for the same information. “When I think about it now, I guess I just wanted to love him more than I actually did. I thought if I just tried hard enough to convince myself that would be enough.”

When she risked a look up, she wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but there was nothing but commiseration on his face.

“It wasn’t, obviously.” She puffed out her cheeks with another heavy exhale. “I could have pretended, I guess, but he forced my hand. He had an office job, see, upper management at his father’s shipping company in Pentos.” She let out a bitter laugh. “And he was certainly helping himself to every assistant that cycled through. I went up to his office one night, when he was supposed to be ‘working late’, on our anniversary. Caught him balls deep in the latest girl. He admitted, later, to fucking five of them, but I’m sure there were more. He cried and everything. It was pretty pathetic.” She shrugged and finished off her beer, glad to realize that the hurt that had followed had faded, well and truly. Now, even as she told it, she just felt stupid for staying as long as she had, turning a blind eye to what had been happening under her nose. “It was easy to leave, after that.”

Jon’s mouth twisted sourly as he drank the dregs of his own beer, leaving the empty on the table. “What a dick.” He summed it up beautifully; Three short words described Daario perfectly, really captured his essence, and she laughed, shoulders shaking as she tossed her napkin onto her plate.

“Yeah,” she sighed, and then fixed him with a resolute stare. “Your turn.”

Jon winced and scratched at his bearded jaw. “Gonna need another beer for that.” He stood before she could and grabbed their plates, disappearing for a moment before returning with a fresh drink for them both.

He downed half of it before he spoke again, his eyes trained out of the dining room window, into the now-dark sky, his voice careful absent any emotion at all. “I met Ygritte in the Northern Army, right after boot camp. She was a bitch even then, but I guess I thought it was funny, you know?” He gave Dany a fleeting look and a tepid half-smile. “It worked, back then, like it seemed normal, to be an asshole when you’re being shot at all the time.” He ran a hand down his face, and his thumb started to fiddle with the pull top of the can, little metallic twangs sounding. “Got married on leave, when we had a year left in. We weren’t even stationed together, that last year, so you’d think it would’ve been nice, once we were discharged, to be back together, to have a life. You know, all those things you’re supposed to do: buy a house, get a dog, start a family.”

Dany took a sip, rolling her drink around in her mouth as she watched his face closely. “Which one didn’t she want?”

His expression tightened. “The family part. Which would’ve been nice to have mentioned, at any point, at all.” He raised angry eyes to Dany. “Anything would’ve been preferable to the way she went about notifying me.”

Dany frowned, at the haunted look that stole over his face. “What happened?”

Jon sucked in a breath. “About six months before I filed for divorce, she got pregnant. I didn’t know, she didn’t tell me. Things were already strained, you might say. And then,” he paused, and rubbed a hand down his face, chest heaving as he sighed, “Three months before I filed, she terminated the pregnancy. Just went and did it. I didn’t know what was happening ‘til she called me to pick her up after the deed was done.”

Dany wasn’t sure what to say. Of all the things she’d speculated about, when it came to Jon Snow, this hadn’t even been on the list of possibilities. “Fuck,” she breathed out, and he just nodded, as if to agree that the breakup of his marriage had indeed been a set of extraordinarily fucked-up circumstances. “I really, really, hope,” she said slowly, “that you did something like piling all her shit up outside and setting it on fire. How do you come back from that?”

Jon laughed under his breath. “You don’t, obviously. You know, the worst part is, that if she’d had some sort of even remotely good reason for why she did it, like maybe she was scared about becoming a mother, or something like that, I might have been able to forgive her, eventually. But you know what she said?”

Dany was almost afraid to ask, but morbid curiosity spurred her on. “What?”

His anger was a living thing, as he ground his teeth together, taking several seconds before the answer came grinding out. “Oh, Jon, what was I supposed to do? We’re too selfish for kids.” She felt pinned by his dark eyes as his gaze flicked to hers. “Then she laughed. Like it was nothing. And the thing is, maybe she was right. She definitely was about herself, and maybe about me too, but she didn’t even give me a choice.”

There was no denying his melancholy air, but she understood, now, why he was the way he was, or at least in part. Certainly better than she did before, at any rate. Gods, she couldn’t even imagine, but she also couldn’t blame him for making the same choice she had - perpetual single status left a person free from all the hurt that letting someone close could allow.

“She sounds like a real piece of fucking work, Jon.” She was surprised at how pissed she sounded, but she guessed she was, at least on his behalf. She raised her beer can, lifting it towards him. “You know what? Fuck them both. I hope they contract every STD in the world and their genitals rot off.”

His eyes widened so much she had to laugh, and then he joined in, a deep, free sound from his belly. “Oh, Gods, fingers crossed on that one, Dany.” He clinked his can against hers, some of that hollow loneliness disappearing from his face. “Cheers.”

She sent him home with the rest of the pizza not long after, smiling to herself as she watched him drive away, allowing herself to accept that, awful soul-crushing stories aside, it was the most fun night she’d spent with someone else in a long time.

And then she frowned to herself, and locked the door, and ordered herself never, ever, to think such a thing about Jon Snow again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Just Kidding...Unless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys decide to take their little arrangement to another level. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, if I could just have time, to myself, to write? That's the dream. However, since I posted the last update of this I've been contending with several drags on my time, namely all the other people who live in this house, especially the lovely Mr. Lights who had been home Covid Quarantining.
> 
> Anyway, here we are, and yes, here we go again, another one shot that became two chapters that is now three, because fuck it, I keep thinking of things that make me laugh, and more of the story I want to tell for them, so yeah, one more part. But at least the burn isn't so slow anymore, and our final chapter sees our resolution for these misbegotten little love birds who don't want anything to do with love.
> 
> I'm sure you already know how it ends. It's me, babies. Would I ever NOT HEA? No, never.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and have a wonderful Monday!
> 
> EDIT: ERIKA THANK YOU FOR THE MOOD BOARD I LOVE YOU

* * *

It was a full two weeks after their little ‘shitty relationship truth hour’ that Dany finally saw Jon’s place. She wasn’t really sure what she’d expected, but when she pulled up to a small, two-story Victorian, a dark navy with crisp white trim, she knew it wasn’t that.

She gaped from the curbside, for a second, her eyes finding and hanging on the elaborate scroll work on the running trim that lined the wraparound porch. This house was striking, she had to admit, taking in the neatly trimmed hedges and stone-lined path.

Dany killed the engine, looking towards the bright white door with wrought iron adornments, and made her way through the small iron gate and up the walk. She could hear something, muffled, an odd shriek, not human in the slightest. It was almost a whine, and it would grow then stop.

Rapping her knuckles against the door, she waited to hear him respond, or approach, anticipating a bark or twelve from the dog he had a picture of in his wallet. But there was no response, just that same annoying whine. She walked around the porch, seeing a decently-sized outbuilding just at the back, the sound growing louder with each step she took.

This building, she realized, was set with a large, hanging door, and it was partially open, giving her enough of a view of what lay within for her to realize that the loud, ringing whine she kept hear was Jon, sawing through lengths of wood, obviously oblivious to the fact that she was there.

Dany came closer, hoping the movement would grab his attention. She waved, and called out to him, the sweatshirt she was coming to return clenched in her hand.

“Jon!” She tried again but the ear protection he was wearing rendered the attempts useless.

Then Dany froze, as something solid hit the back of her knee, her leg wobbling as she struggled to keep standing from the sudden movement. She glanced down to find the fluffiest, oldest dog she’d ever seen, his white fur swaying in the gentle September breeze, his red eyes staring up at her curiously.

“Ghost?” At her quiet address his tail began to sweep through the fallen leaves and grass, and he was just so sweet, so smushably soft, that she was on her knees quickly, running her hands along his muzzle and scratching behind his ears, little bits of praise escaping every few seconds as she assured him he was the best boy, and the softest.

Dany hadn’t even noticed the quiet that fell, until a throat cleared loudly a few feet away, and she raised sheepish eyes to find Jon regarding both her and his wolf with an odd expression. He laughed under his breath and pulled the sliding door shut, locking it up soundly before he turned back. “You two want to be alone?”

She pursed her lips at him, throwing him a cutting glare. “Ha, ha, ha,” she mocked, and shoved at his shoulder gently as she followed him back up to the porch. “Here’s your sweatshirt, you big baby.”

Jon stopped to open the side door, waving her in without comment, but snatching the sweatshirt from her hands as she passed. “It’s my favorite,” he said, matter-of-factly, and disappeared, leaving her alone in the kitchen with a quiet Ghost trailing her closely. By the time he emerged she was leaning into his open refrigerator, studying her choices then checking her watch.

“Is it too soon for a beer?” The clock showed 11:30 a.m., absolutely allowable to her mind, and she grinned when he leaned past, brushing against her to grab one for himself and giving her a serious side-eye.

“Ridiculous question, Dany. That assumes it’s EVER too soon for a beer.” He smelled good, she realized. The normal aftershave or body wash or whatever it was that made him smell like piney woods was there, but he was dusted by a thin layer of sawdust, and through some strange alchemy it just complimented him.

It was that sort of thinking that would get her into trouble, so she brushed it off, popping the top on her beer bottle and closing the heavy porcelain door with her hip. “Speaking of ridiculous, I assume you’ve been informed of the little outing we’re expected to attend this weekend?”

The way he rolled his eyes and groaned into the brown glass neck of his own bottle she deduced he had, and she’d known he’d hate it, had been sure of it when Margaery had called her earlier, excited beyond measure, to tell her what banal ‘couple date’ Jon and Dany would be roped into.

“Do I look,” Jon said slowly, staring intensely, “like someone who goes fucking apple picking, Daenerys?”

She snickered and tried to keep a straight face. “I mean, not at first, but I definitely think you could pass for someone who has some sort of weird, fruit-related fetish.” She raised her brows at him, beaming when he scowled at her, and took a sip of her beer.

“If I did,” he snarked, “I’d never tell you. And also, no, obviously not.” He moved his hand towards his face, sarcasm growing by the moment, “Is this the face of a man who sees he has a free day and says ‘Y’know why I’m dying to do? Pick apples!’, Dany? No, it isn’t.”

Dany snorted and leaned opposite him on the small, butcher-block island. “You are so dramatic, Jon. Are you done?” He retained his resting grouch face, frowning mightily as he glared at the bottle in his hand. Finally, in the silence that fell, he reluctantly met her eyes and shrugged.

“Yes,” he ground out, “for now.”

Dany gave him a cheerful smile, laughing when he made a rude gesture. “Good. And I have to say I’m disappointed, that I am the only one that sees the possibilities of this outing.” She hopped up onto the island, perched on the edge, taking a slow sip of her beer and avoiding his eyes.

“Such as?” 

Gods, his pouting was so over-the-top, but for some reason his sullenness was something she found highly amusing, and now was no different. “First off, Eeyore, free drinks and free dinner at this ‘oh-so-fancy’ orchard. And secondly,” she leaned over, so that she was inches away from his face, their eyes locked. “Can you even comprehend the amount of shit we can talk behind their backs? I mean, given your stance on Robb’s status as a perennial snob, imagine the ammo you could gather while watching him drone on and on about fresh-pressed cider.”

Jon sat back, lips pursed as he considered her words. “Ehhhh, I don’t know. Sounds like a lot of bullshit packed into one block of time.” He frowned again. “That’s not quite worth my time.”

Sucking in a breath, she held it, counting to five in her head, knowing she clearly needed to bring out the big guns. “Alright,” she breathed out on a sigh, “I’ll let you do it.”

His brow wrinkled so quickly that she worried he was seizing up, his startled eyes alerting her that he’d very likely interpreted that incorrectly. “Do what, exactly?”

Dany held his gaze and leaned forward again, until her hair curtained her face, and she knew he could feel her breath on his lips when she answered. “I’ll let you break in that new floor sander you got on my hardwoods.”

He made a scandalized noise. “You sure? You said you wanted it professionally done.” His eagerness over such a mundane task was truly something to behold. Then he curled a brow, almost coy. “Do I get to pick the stain?”

Dany rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she allowed, but raised a warning finger. “Nothing too dark, remember. I’m trying to brighten the place up.”

Jon seemed to have forgotten his apple-picking misery, and he rubbed his hands together, delighted. “Fine, fine, deal. Oh, Gods, I can’t wait, I have so many ideas!” He stood, so quickly he nearly upended his beer, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You are not gonna regret this, Dany.”

“Yeah, well,” she said dryly, hopping off the counter and feeling in her jacket pocket for her keys, “Make sure you bring your A-game for the orchard, got it?”

His devious grin suggested this weekend would either be a flaming disaster or a fabulous time, and as she waved goodbye she thought to herself that she wouldn’t mind either way.

\-------------

“This is bullshit.”

They were sitting on prickly, rectangular bales of hay, their jean-clad thighs rubbing together with each bump of the pickup truck as it drove them from the front lot to the orchard proper. She had Jon had opted to sit closest to the cab, their backs pressed to the glass and metal, while Robb and Marg were firmly entwined in each other to Jon’s left, the strangers comprising the rest of their little group huddled together and hanging on for dear life.

Dany slowly turned her head, to find Jon squinting up at the afternoon sun. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Are you going to do this the entire time?”

He didn’t look at her, but he did relax back, his voice low and put-upon. “Probably. How much bitching ‘til they ask me to leave, do you think?”

She jabbed an elbow into his side, as casually as she could. “You’re mad if you think you’re leaving me here with these assholes.” It was all designer jeans and ridiculously expensive boots surrounding her, posh people who had tried their best to dress like everyone else, while wearing ensembles that cost a regular person’s monthly salary. Dany wasn’t completely surprised; Marg had been a bit of a snob as long as Dany had known her, and it was just one of those things that came with the territory. In Robb Stark, her friend might truly have met her match - the aristocratic son of the Lord of Winterfell, heir to what was, by all accounts, a massive castle in the heart of the Northern seat was exactly the sort of catch Margaery’s grandmother had always hoped she’d land.

Dany glanced at her own worn jeans and scuffed sneakers, eyeing the wear and tear on Jon’s clearly broken-in work boots, and laughed under her breath. “Are you ready to experience the sheer joy of freshly-pressed cider? And picking those apples with our _own hands_?!” She wiggled her fingers, glad that while summer was nearing its end and fall was encroaching it wasn’t quite yet cold enough for gloves. Winters were apparently brutal in the North, the climate here cold enough that snows could fall even in the summer, but this year was forecast to be mild.

Jon gave a fake gasp, eyes wide and scandalized. “Like some sort of _commoner_. What will people say? When they learn?” He clucked his tongue and tried his best to appear ashamed. “We’ll never be asked to any fancy parties after this.” He folded his hands below his chin, as though in prayer. “Please, Old Gods, I beg you. No more parties.”

She chuckled, throwing him a commiserating look, realizing as she glanced back at Robb and Marg that the couple were looking directly at Jon and Dany. Quickly, she linked her arm through his, and for lack of a better place to leave her hand and still retain her ability to balance herself on the bumpy ride, she let her hand come to rest on his knee.

Margaery’s answering smile and wink told Dany her mission had been accomplished.

They had found a nice, safe equilibrium when it came to touching each other; It had come with a rather uncommon amount of trust. Both had assured each other, since this endeavor had begun, that in the event of sudden touches or grasps, that such was done only due to dire need, when perhaps someone around them needed some convincing, or reminding. Sometimes, it was just the urge to reinforce that Dany and Jon were very clearly a couple, and that required a hand-hold, or a palm at the small of the back, a peck on the cheek, a brush of the lips.

Just enough to keep them in the game, they had agreed, and as time had gone by Dany was happy to find that she’d gotten used to it.

It seemed it was taking Jon a little longer. She squeezed his knee through the denim, glancing up to find him giving her a playful glare. “Looking’s free, Dany, but touching’s going to cost you.”

“Oh, Gods,” she breathed out, laughing and laying her head against his shoulder as the truck neared their destination. “What is wrong with you?”

He dropped his hand onto her kneecap, squeezing meaningfully, just as she had. “So many things.” The truck lurched to a stop in front of a partially-restored, small Keep, and Jon and Dany waited until the other passengers had disembarked before climbing down, Jon offering his hand for Dany to jump.

“Oh, hello, hello and welcome to Deepwood Motte!” The petite silver-haired woman who rushed out was dressed in historical Westerosi wear, perfectly coiffed, every syllable pronounced precisely. “My name is Sybelle, and I will be your guide for our splendid adventure today!” She clapped her hands, waving them towards the Keep. “Come, come, everyone, and let’s begin our tour.”

Jon groaned under his breath, a move Dany felt like echoing. “Kill me now,” he muttered, as his hand found hers.

\--------------

She stood on top of a ladder, dropping down an apple every few seconds to Jon, who waited below with a basket, when he finally reached his limit.

“We need an exit strategy,” he said quietly, only just loud enough for her to hear. “I’m going to hang myself from one of these trees, in strict defiance of the order that there be no ‘funny business’.” Sybelle had waxed for several long minutes about how the local hooligans and ne-er-do-wells liked to sneak into these fruited woods and get up to all sorts of ‘funny business’, and they would all do well to remember that such shenanigans were _strictly prohibited_.

And so, when the idea struck her, she suspected it just might work. She glanced around at the nearby couples, all dutifully going through the motions of a brand of menial labor that had no doubt escaped them up until now. The way they laughed and giggled, as though picking apples was some amazing task, made Dany’s eyes threaten to roll themselves out of her head. She’d had enough to, but for what she had in mind she thought she might need to run it by Jon, first.

Dany climbed down the ladder, one more apple in hand, and took another quick peek at their surroundings before stepping up close to Jon, near enough she could lean up to whisper in his ear. “I have an idea.”

Jon’s excitement was immediate. “Alright, let’s do it.”

Dany chuckled, wrinkling her nose at him, amused. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

He leaned down, lips just brushing the lobe of her ear. “As long as it works, Dany, I don’t fucking care.” He brought an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, giving the illusion to anyone who might look their way that they were engaged in some deeply intimate lover’s chat.

“Funny business,” she whispered. He pulled back, obviously intrigued, studying her face. “And for this, Jon, I will grant you very temporary permission to grab my ass.”

He barely managed to contain his shock, even as he pressed closer. “What? Why would I--”. She waited several beats as he trailed off, watching the realization of what she intended wash over him. “Oh.” His brow furrowed, skeptic, as he murmured a low “Are you sure?”

Dany forced down the unbidden wave of want that took her, then, her eyes dropping to his parted lips. He had nice lips, full, sweetly shaped if you looked past the facial hair he stubbornly refused to part with. She wanted to taste them, she could admit that, but not out of emotion. No, it was a craving, one she’d rarely felt with Daario, if ever. Maybe it was their shared apathy for all of this crap, their shared willingness to do this mindless crap with Robb and Marg to escape an outcome much worse; Either way, he was attractive, more so the more she’d grown to know him, and it was absolutely allowable for her to have this small indulgence.

Just because it was all for show didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself.

“I’m sure.” She tilted her head and stepped into him completely, an edge of daring in her voice. “And really get in there, you know? Just, go crazy. Like you’re two seconds away from fucking me against that tree.” She ticked her head back towards the tree behind her. “Sell it, Joe Snow.”

She knew she wasn’t imaging that dark flare of desire in his eyes as he stared down at her. He felt it, too. He wanted, like she did, and there was a possibility, here, of indulging themselves further. She’d think on that later, after their daring escape.

He said nothing, but inclined his head in understanding, a worryingly devious smile appearing as he stepped forward, one then another, forcing her back, only stopping when her back hit the tree. “So, basically, act like I’m eating your face.”

Dany wrapped her arms around his neck, just as his hands began blazing a very sure path from her back to her hips. “Exactly.”

Jon bumped his forehead against hers, and squeezed her ass with both hands, jerking up until she realized his intent. His next urgent tug found her with her legs around his hips, ankles locking as she was pressed harder against the tree. “Well,” he muttered, lips just millimeters from hers, “Get ready for the worst two minutes of your life!”

She was still laughing when his mouth found hers, and Jon Snow must’ve planned that, she thought, because he took full advantage of her parted lips. Her chuckle morphed into a moan with such alarming speed that she was worried, her heart speeding up at the feel of Jon’s tongue slipping against her own even as she wondered if this wasn’t an enormous mistake.

Jon Snow was a supreme grouch, that was an absolute fact, but there was another fact now crystallized in her mind, as he proceeded to work his mouth against hers in a disarmingly skillful manner.

He could fucking kiss, she’d give him that. It was objectively true; She had no vested interest either way, or so she told herself, other than the fact that occasionally having to kiss him would be required in their little fraudulent arrangement, so it was certainly a nice turn of events.

But fuck, if her toes weren’t curling inside her sneakers, her breath easing out into a low, lazy groan as he squeezed her ass while mouthing at her neck. Yes, he was good. Very good. She gave herself over to it, told herself she should, and there was no need to act like she enjoyed it since she genuinely was, and that really made things so much simpler.

Jon made a sound that she could only describe as a growl, as his tongue laved the strip of skin at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and it made her shudder against him. He smiled, she could _feel_ it, those full lips of his curving.

His mouth found hers again, just as their guide came tearing through the trees, her shrill voice not penetrating the hazy, lusty cloud that surrounded them for several seconds.

Long enough, unfortunately, for her to make a move that she absolutely knew was wrong, even before she did it. And really, she didn’t do it on purpose. It was a reflex, and instinctive thing, but wrong. So wrong.

She rolled her hips against his, a slow grind that she would never, ever convincingly explain away, if he asked.

She rolled her traitorous hips, and maybe, deep down, it was with purpose. Maybe it was just a remnant of doubt, one she still clung to, one that had been borne in the wake of her ex-husband’s constant betrayal. Maybe it was just a matter of pride, that he had affected her so swiftly, and she needed to know if it was the same, for him. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity gone entirely out of hand.

She rolled her hips, and that narrow sliver of space between their bodies closed, and she felt him, hard and stiff and pressed against her.

They separated, immediately, eyes wide as they stared at each other, panting, because that was a line, definitely one, and she hadn’t meant to cross it. 

“There will be none of that!” Sybelle’s shriek was very close, now, and she heard an odd thump as Jon startled against her.

“She just threw an apple at me,” Jon whispered, and they both snorted, and to her immediate relief it was like the awkwardness was gone. Maybe it hadn’t mattered and she hadn’t completely fucked things up. He released her, slowly, and she slid down his body, one last fleeting pass of contact made with the erection that was now known to both of them. She noticed he didn’t shy away, and didn’t know what to make of that, at all.

“This is not that kind of orchard! You must leave!”

Jon finally turned and they both faced Sybelle, trying their best to look remorseful. “I can think of no worse punishment,” he said somberly, even as Robb stood behind the angry old woman, flipping Jon off.

Dany nodded fervently, “Hopefully this will teach us a lesson.”

Sybelle was having none of it, trembling with rage as she pointed a knotted finger in the distance, back towards the main parking lot. “Leave!” Her face twisted, red and mottled. “And you can walk!”

\------------

It was almost dark by the time they drove back to town, and she knew she needed to get some distance from him, to sort through what had happened in her own mind, make sure she kept herself in check.

But apparently her run of bad decisions wasn’t over, and when he pulled up at her curb, she was asking him in to eat with her before she could stop herself.

Jon didn’t seem at all out of sorts, was actually in a rare cheerful mood in the wake of their victory and extraction, and was happy enough to take control of her cable box while she set to work making them some quick sandwiches.

He had settled on an episode of ‘How It’s Made’ when she returned, and she slid next to him on the sofa like it was a totally natural thing, handing him his plate and resting her own on the coffee table. She gave him a nudge with her elbow and a glare when he turned his eyes from the screen to glance at her. “Really, Jon?” She hooked a thumb towards the screen. “Why would I need to know how fire hydrants are made?”

Jon looked confused, almost aghast. “Dany, why _wouldn’t_ you? It’s fascinating.”

They carried out what had become a rather common event, a little staring stand-off, and finally he groaned and rolled his eyes. “Can we just finish this one? Then you can change it and put it on one of those bullshit reality shows.”

Dany smiled, triumphant, and raised her sandwich to her lips. “Deal.”

In the end, she caved, and sat through one more episode, but only because it advertised how toilet paper was made, and Jon managed to convince her that it sounded marginally interesting.

It was, but she wasn’t going to admit it to Jon.

‘The Bachelorette’ was halfway done by the time they cleared away their dinner plates, and she was two beers in, trailing behind his three, snickering as he referred to one of the contestants as a ‘huge douchebag’, when Jon finally breached the topic that had been weighing on her.

Well, sort of.

“Speaking of douchebags,” he said, clearing his throat and staring straight ahead, “I think I owe you an apology for earlier.”

Her face screwed up in confusion, because she wasn’t sure why he would feel the need to apologize for anything. All he’d done was what she asked him, and it had worked like a charm, and frankly she was the one who should apologize, for rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. “Huh?”

Jon took a swallow of beer, but still, he wouldn’t look at her. He sounded sheepish when he spoke again. “You know, about,” finally, he chanced a glance at her, and when he faced her fully she saw he was wincing. He pointed down covertly. “The boner situation,” he finished.

She burst out laughing, loud and harsh, and soon she was helpless to it, sagging back against the couch, beer dangling dangerously from her fingers, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gasped for breath.

“That seems rude,” Jon grumbled, and that just made her laugh harder, barely managing to dispose of her beer as she leaned against him, clutching at his arm, until he began to chuckle in spite of himself. “Why is that so fucking funny?”

Dany sucked in a few quick breaths, slowly regaining control, a few more giggles escaping before she found she could speak again. “No, I’m sorry, it’s just,” she swallowed back another peal of laughter, “I was so worried you were pissed at me. I can’t believe you’re apologizing, that’s all, I swear. I never would have known if I hadn’t,” now she was grimacing, pointing down as he had done. “You know, moved like I did.”

Jon seemed to consider that, eyeing her as he scratched along his jaw. “Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. He pointed between the two of them a few times. “So we’re cool.”

“Uh, yeah. We’re cool.”

That was all he needed, she guessed, as he relaxed back against the couch and handed her beer back to her, taking a deep pull from his own before pointing the neck of the bottle towards the screen. “This rat bastard,” he said disdainfully, “I can’t stand this fucker.”

They fell back into their usual routine, and by the time Jon had left, and she’d shut off all the lights and started running a bath, she marvelled at how relieved she felt. Somehow, strangely, she’d actually grown used to Jon Snow’s company, and the prospect of losing it made her feel rotten. It was concerning, and she knew that, the lingering red flag that had been raised by their little interlude today still there in her line of sight.

But really, in the end, this was never going to be a situation built to last, and neither of them wanted it to. She could remember that, and she would.

In the meantime, she mused, as she slipped into the steaming water, it couldn’t hurt to enjoy herself a little.

\------------

September fed into October, and Dany learned what true cold was like, in the North. There had almost been no fall, it seemed to her, winter eating away at the turning leaves and leaving behind the bare black branches everywhere she looked.

By the time Halloween approached Jon and Dany had found themselves captive at the following events: two book signings, three plays, one absolutely nightmarish night of karaoke in which they hadn’t had to make out to escape, because Jon had been asked to leave due only to awful singing. There had been several wine-and-cheese tastings thrown in, as Jon had apparently worked out, correctly, that Robb was on his standard mission to impress his new girlfriend.

“Halloween ought to do it,” he said, as they drank a cup of coffee on his front porch. She’d come over early, because she’d been working on a series of sketches, trying to capture the frigid magic of the icicles that already dangled from trees, the way the snow mounded and rolled and shone like a crystal blanket in the morning sun.

Jon’s porch was perfectly situated for it, so he had grudgingly agreed to allow her presence. For all his grumpiness he still had a cup of coffee waiting for her every time she arrived, and usually sat on the steps with Ghost, reading the paper, while she scratched away.

“You think?” She smiled at the page before her as she asked, the vague forms of Jon and Ghost taking shape because she couldn’t resist how perfectly framed they were, surrounded by ice and snow just beyond the porch, the branches above sagging and bowing beautifully. “How come?”

She heard a snort of laughter, and the paper wrinkling in his hand. “Because every year the Starks have a Halloween party at that haunted fucking Keep of theirs, and Marg will get a big eyeful of Robb’s ‘prospects’.” She glanced up in time to see him air quote, and chuckled. “It’s a fucking castle, Dany. Apparently that’s a _thing_.”

She had to nod; She loved Marg but Marg made no secret of her love for material things. The idea of marrying a man and living in a castle would absolutely feed the woman’s secret princess fetish. “I guess,” she said absently, and shaded a bit on Ghost’s tail. “I take it our presence will be expected at this party.”

“Of course.” She didn’t have to see his face to hear his sullenness. “And costumes, can’t forget that.”

“Costumes?” She grinned at his frustrated groan when he heard the excitement in her voice. He was frowning heavily in her general direction, which only added to her growing glee. Gods, there were so many possibilites, so many ways to torture him while also putting in their token appearance.

Also bearing consideration was that they had been making out heavily in the past month, because it was the most reliable way to get themselves asked to leave, or get a room, or whatever clever little dig Robb or Marg dreamed up while watching Jon grab for Dany’s breast in some drawing room or another. It was shameful, the way she’d come to look forward to each new event. The thing was, though, that it turned out that making out with Jon was really, really nice, and they’d managed to make it not at all weird, which was a minor miracle on it’s own.

This party would be a prime opportunity for more making out, so she would take full advantage.

Sometimes she felt guilty, about the way she’d come to crave the way he kissed, the way she wanted his strong hands on her body. She wasn’t taking advantage of Jon, not in the least. He very obviously got some physical enjoyment out of it, and it didn’t seem to interfere with their actual friendship, so she preferred to think it was mutually beneficial.

He was studying her carefully when she looked at him again, and cocked his head. “If I agree to let you pick the costumes--” She let out a squeal and he winced. “Can you promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” she breathed. “Name it and it’s yours.”

“I want you to pick the tackiest, most horrible costumes you can find. Just the cheapest, most garish things possible. Things Robb’s mother would absolutely hate. Can you do this?”

Dany nodded soberly at his dead-serious tone. “I give you my word, Jon.” She drew an ‘x’ over her heart. “I will not let you down.”

Jon squinted at her, making a show of looking skeptically towards Ghost before he gave her a grave, warning scowl. “See that you don’t.” She might’ve really been convinced, had his eyes not been dancing, and she wisely said nothing, because she was fairly sure Jon Snow would never, ever admit to having eyes that danced in the slightest.

\-------------

Jon had been pleased, when she’d arrived at his place earlier, costumes stowed away in a big shopping bag she had slung over her arm.

But now, his costume in place, he looked overjoyed, and she flushed hot at his praise as he sauntered back into the room, turning in a slow circle for her perusal before he crossed to the mirror hung over the mantle, pulling his cheap plastic mask into place. “Oh, Dany, you fucking genius. You’ve really outdone yourself.” He plucked at the shoddy, thin length of faux fur that was meant to imitate a heavy cloak, strapped precariously across his chest, and struck a majestic pose. “How do I look?”

“Like,” her eyes wandered to the discarded packaging laying on the couch, where he’d ripped it apart earlier, “The Night King.” He laughed at her ominous tone, and slid his mask back to take in her female version of the same character, some famous villain in the Lore of the North, who’d even had several movies and cartoons based on him.

Margaery had recoiled so harshly from the character, when they’d been shopping together, telling her how gauche and tacky locals found the whole ‘Night King’ thing, that she’d known it would be perfect. Even if, regrettably, she would be baring more skin than Jon tonight. It seemed the female Night King enjoyed very plunging necklines, and very daring skirt slits, but she’d been far too excited by the prospect of horrifying Jon’s stuffy aunt that it hadn’t seemed like a big deal.

It did now, though, as she saw Jon’s eyes pop out a bit as he took her in. “You’re going to freeze your ass off,” he said, sounding not at all sorry. She smirked and reached for her coat, shaking the overstuffed down jacket at him as he searched for his keys.

“I guess it’s your job to keep me warm then,” she said, syrupy-sweet, giving him such a simpering smile that he scoffed at her and shook his head, pulling on his own jacket.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your cheap thrills tonight.” She punched towards his shoulder as he swaggered by, pouting at his smug laugh as he swept open the front door with a flourish. “After you, my Queen.” She just rolled her eyes and pulled her coat more tightly around her body as they stepped out into the cold Northern night.

\---------------

Well, it was official.

Jon and Daenerys were, without a doubt, the most embarrassing sight Catelyn Stark had ever seen, which the woman loudly declared the moment the faux couple had arrived, proudly flaunting their cheap plastic masks and horribly crafted costumes.

Jon was, to put it mildly, thrilled.

He proclaimed it several times, to anyone who would listen, sipping from Cat Stark’s fine crystal champagne flute as he praised her fine choice in Halloween attire. All in all, the event exceeded her expectations in terms of enjoyment, but that was largely due to the fact that she and Jon had decided beforehand to be as obnoxious as they possibly could.

Which was probably why he had her pressed against a wall, one thigh intruding between hers, in a semi-darkened room right off the main hall. The crowded foyer was a fair distance away, but not so far that she couldn’t hear the low din of the guests as they made their empty small-talk and pretended to like the disgusting appetizers.

“So,” he whispered, lips grazing her neck, just below her earlobe. “You ready to ditch this shitshow?” He’d already set aside his drink, both hands free to grab at her hips meaningfully, and she just barely managed to hide the way she shivered at his touch. She had already made her peace with the fact that she could want him physically without wanting an actual relationship with him, and the way his dark eyes were steadily becoming heavy and hooded made her think he was swiftly reaching that conclusion as well.

Dany took one last sip of her champagne, finishing it off and leaning over to drop it onto a low end table. “I suppose,” she drawled, straightening to lean back against the wall, sliding her finger slowly up the front of his chest, over the cheap rubber that was meant to look like he was a man made of ice. She ended by tapping her finger against the tip of his nose, grinning when he frowned. “And don’t forget, tonight we might have to kick things up a notch. This isn’t getting tossed from a couple’s pottery glass.” She quirked a brow at him. “You’re family, so getting tossed from this will mean getting a little more…,” she trailed off, feeling her cheeks get hot and trying to ignore it, “Spicy.”

There it was again, that spark of hunger that she knew he probably wasn’t aware of, that he would hide if he knew. It was that spark that made her feel completely fine with what she was considering, what she was going to finally suggest after they managed to get away from this musty old castle and back to his place. 

She sucked in a breath when he chuckled against her skin, the vibration making sparks skitter down her spine. “I think I can manage that,” Jon whispered against her neck, his thumbs rubbing against her hip bones. “You ready?”

She nodded, quickly, then darted over to flick on another of the overhead lights, sauntering back to Jon and grabbing him by the nylon fur of his embarrassingly short ‘cloak’. She pushed him lightly, sitting him on the plush velvet and brocade sofa that no doubt cost a fortune.

Then she straddled him, her polyester dress splitting along the slits to slither down her now-bent thighs. The move left her chest just at his eye-level, and she smiled inwardly when he seemed to struggle to look past them, but eventually he managed.

The way he licked his lips had her hypnotized, unable to look away as he spoke again. “Any last requests?”

She pursed her lips and looked down at him, letting her hands slide along his shoulders to meet behind his neck, and shook her head. “Just make sure it’s appropriately scandalous.”

“You got it,” he said, just before her lips dropped onto his, and he got to work.

His hands were molding to her ass, hot through the thin material of her stupid costume, and she didn’t bother trying to suppress her moan. It leaked into his mouth, and he smiled, pulling her closer as she slipped her tongue against the tip of his, teasing him past her lips, taunting him to come play.

He did, gladly, groaning letting one hand start to roam up the length of her spine. When he met skin, at the juncture of the vee the material created on her back, he slipped his fingers beneath it, his index and middle fingers sliding against her bare skin and making her arch and gasp.

She rocked her hips, not meaning too, but not able to help it, and when she felt him there, the hard length of him more than evident, his name escaped her lips in what even she could admit was a pathetic whimper. “Jon.”

He stilled, and for a split-second she was petrified by fear, the slight champagne haze and intoxicating way he touched her clouding her judgment and making her ruin it all. But then he tore his mouth from hers, and dropped it to her neck, and the growl he let out made a new rush of arousal course through her.

She was a stream of low-pitched hums, beginning to writhe on his lap shamelessly, nails pricking into his neck as she clutched at him, held him closer. If he kept at it, hands teasing at her flesh, mouth toying with her neck, he would eventually get her loud enough to trigger suspicion in anyone who might overhear. They both knew this, and it had become just an expected step in the plan.

But Jon, she realized very quickly, as his lips began to travel below her collarbone, in unchartered territory, had taken Dany seriously, and as he swirled his tongue between the valley of her breasts she warbled out a startled ‘yes’ that became a purr as he traced the tip of his tongue along the inner curve of her breast, exposed to the party at large due to the apparent need for the ‘Night Queen’ to display shameless amounts of cleavage.

She was glad for it now, and she arched her back more sharply, the rasp of his beard on her skin making her feel like she was going to burst into flame. It had been too long since she’d been touched, she knew that, was firmly convinced that it was that neglect that made her ache so much for him in the first place.

She just wanted, in general, and he was here, and by every way she could think so measure, willing. She rolled her hips very slowly, and very deliberately, grazing his length in one ponderous movement that could leave no doubt that she’d done it on purpose. They were crossing all sorts of lines tonight, she thought idly, nearly delirious with the hot, wet line he was scrawling across her chest with that sinful mouth of his.

But then, in one smooth shove, his nose brushed aside the black fabric that covered her left breast, and her nipple was in his mouth, and she bucked against him, yelping his name so loud that they were definitely going to be discovered, very, very soon.

She should push him back, and tuck herself back into her dress, and force his head back up so that she could de-escalate things, cool the lust that was boiling up and spilling over between them, but she wasn’t really well-known for her good choices, as a rule.

So instead, she pulled his head back to her nipple, her mouth falling open when she saw the way his saliva slicked the stiff, pink peak, and whispered, “Do that again.”

It was like everything was happening in slow-motion, then; his wicked smile, the way his lips parted, his tongue sneaking out to flick at her nipple before he took it again into the sweet heaven of his mouth. “Yes,” she breathed out, her grip like iron on his neck. “Oh, fuck.”

“No!” The blood-curdling stream was enough to stop them both, Dany’s immediate frozen state prompting Jon to cover her breast as she tried to get her limbs moving again. “Ned! I warned you! I told you!” Catelyn Stark’s tirade began to fade off, and for a moment Jon and Dany just stared at each other, neither sure exactly what to say.

“Well,” Jon finally rasped out, licking his lips nervously, “I guess that’s our cue to leave.”

\--------------

They rode back to Jon’s place in uneasy silence, throwing each other quick, darting glances in the dark, and she briefly toyed with just hopping in her car, parked right there against the curb, and pretending like nothing had happened. He was clearly uncomfortable, shifting around as he drove, and so by the time she opened the passenger door of his truck she was already mentally locating just where in her purse she’d shoved her keys.

Then she noticed he had already walked to the door, turning to say something then noticing she hadn’t followed him up. “Aren’t you coming?” She paused, her hand on the clasp that held her purse shut, and swallowed, looking up to find him staring at her oddly, his head cocked. “Dany, I’m not watching these scary fucking movies alone. Absolutely not.”

She’d forgotten, in truth, that she had agreed to this little after-Halloween event, that she had promised him to watch several of her favorite horror movies after she’d spent thirty minutes lecturing him on how he hadn’t actually lived until he’d seen at least her top three. Jon had loudly proclaimed that he would not watch them alone, because unlike SOME people he was not a deranged psychopath who enjoyed frightening themselves.

The fact that he had remembered, and better still, wanted to continue the evening made her stomach unclench by degrees, and a familiar, returning warmth pool in places that she’d left abandoned for far too long. She smiled evilly and swept past him, into the dark quiet of his house, pinching at his side as she walked. “You’re such a scaredy-cat.”

She saw his face twist in offense as he switched the kitchen light, scowling at her and petting at Ghost, who loped in to greet them both. “That’s very rude, Daenerys. And to think, I considered you a guest. A _friend_ , even.”

Dany blew a raspberry loudly and stuck her tongue out at him, checking his fridge for beverage selection before crossing the room to peruse his liquor cabinet. Maybe it was silly to feel so nervous, because it wasn’t that big a deal, right? People did this kind of thing all the time, this thing she was very close to suggesting. Friends with benefits, the best of both worlds, the sex wtihout the attachment...Their arrangement was built for something like this.

Right?

She pulled out the bourbon, holding it up for his verdict, grinning to herself when he let out a low, suggestive laugh. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

Dany made an aggravated noise and slunk over to the island, where he stood waiting with two glasses. “Oh, please,” she muttered, eyeing him skeptically. “As if I would have to.”

He raised his brows at that, an understanding flashing between them, something that settled the last of her nerves, in his slow nod. “Fair point,” he said, at last, then watched as she poured them each a measure of bourbon. He took his straightaway, taking a slow sip and smacking his lips as he swallowed it down. “Ah,” he whispered, satisfied, “the good stuff.” Then he grimaced, and set down the heavy glass, tugging at the neckline of his costume. “Hang on, I’ve got to get out of this before I break out in fucking hives.”

Dany was left staring at his back until it disappeared, noticing, now that he mentioned it, that the material wasn’t getting any more comfortable the longer she wore it, but unlike him, she didn’t have the luxury of her dresser or closet to offer anything to change into. “If you’re changing that’s totally unfair, Jon! I didn’t bring anything!” 

His answering yell made her laugh and take a swallow of her own bourbon, savoring the sweet fire it left in her throat. “Hold your fucking horses, woman!”

She was still giggling when he walked back into the room, but it died in her still-tingling throat when she saw he had, in fact, changed. Jon had exchanged his atrocious costume for nothing but a pair of dark, soft-looking pajama pants that hung precariously from his narrow hips.

“Here,” he shoved a ball of material at her, grabbing his drink and wandering into the living room. She glanced down at it, shaking it out to see it was a shirt, a large one, one that would likely swallow her frame, one of his. He was flipping on the television when she found him again, thumbing through the onscreen guide.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She let the shirt dangle from her hand, her other tightly gripping her glass.

The look Jon sent her then, dark and knowing and assessing, rooted her to the spot, and she could only watch as he closed the distance between them. He stopped only when a foot of space existed between their bodies, his eyes trailing along the exposed curves of her breasts for far longer than could be explained away. “You know, Dany, I’ve been thinking.”

“Hmmmm.” She hummed under her breath and took a drink, her eyes trailing his languid path as he rounded her slowly. “That rarely ends well.” He was prowling her, that was what he was doing, desire shining there clear as day when he finally stopped in front of her again.

“I think we’ve been going about this all wrong.” He clucked his tongue, as if disappointed, and tucked a knuckle behind her ear, taking a sweep of silver hair with it. “To be perfectly honest, I’m a little ashamed it hasn’t occurred to me before now.”

There it was, exactly what she was hoping for, everything rational left inside her telling her it was a terrible idea, and here he was, bringing it up all by himself. Another burning swallow of liquor and she gave him a half-smile, setting aside her drink and stepping into him with a newfound assurance, that they were very much on the same page, finally. “Took you long enough,” she said dryly, then let her hand trail along his bare abdomen to linger and toy with the skin above his navel. “But I do agree, that our little arrangement might benefit from some,” she dipped her index finger into the hollow of his navel, smiling as he shuddered, “amendment.”

The muscles of his stomach danced under her hand. “So we understand each other.” He was guttural now, each word little more than a grunt, his eyes locked firmly on her hand against his skin.

“Just two like-minded consenting adults, taking advantage of an opportunity,” she uttered, and tucked a finger snugly into the waistband of his pants. “We’d be fools not to, really.” He sucked in a breath when she wiggled her finger, his face twisting in disappointment when she pulled it free.

He understood soon enough, when she turned, offering her back and sweeping her loose silver curls over her shoulder. “Help me out of this dress, won’t you?” She peeked over her shoulder, pulse starting to race as he gave her a look that was positively feral.

“Of course,” he said smoothly, and then he was against her, his chest molding to her back, his cock stiff and pressing into the cleft of her ass as he pressed a kiss to her bared neck. “I can honestly say I have been dying to get that off of you since I saw it on you. Since we’re being honest,” he added on as an afterthought, suckling at the spot where her pulse hammered tellingly against his sweeping tongue.

His fingers found the zip soon enough, and the pads of his fingers chased the metal hiss as the material finally sagged from her shoulders and away from her skin. She had only a second to enjoy the cool air as it hit her chest before it was stolen away, Jon’s hands palming each firm mound of flesh, his pleased moan hot in her ear as he cupped her fully in his hands.

“That’s better,” he said, utterly smug, his fingers capturing and tugging gently at her nipples. She would’ve made an effort to shut him up, it definitely crossed her mind, but the notion didn’t linger long. Soon there wasn’t an option to focus on anything, really, but the way he was teasing her, touching her in ways she’d craved for longer than she’d like to admit. 

The moan she let out was so embarrassingly needy that she mentally shook herself, determined not to leave this encounter the only one affected. He could try to act casual all he wanted but she knew better: he wanted this, too.

She turned, with effort, his hands falling away as she now faced him, hers coming to rest on his shoulders. Jon went easily enough, allowing her to back him up to the couch, sitting quickly and tugging her down to straddle his thighs for the second time that night. This time, much to her relief, she was topless and well on her way to completely naked, and by the looks of the front of his thin pajama pants, he was ready to be that way as well.

His composure slipped, finally, as she settled on his lap, and she had to say his name twice to draw his attention from her breasts. Not that she didn’t want him focused on them; She absolutely did, the sooner the better, but she wanted this stupid dress all the way off first. She raised her arms when he finally raised his gaze, and wiggled her fingers before glancing at the scratchy black fabric pooled around her waist and slipping across her thighs. “Dress is still on,” she said, feeling a little more in control when his eyes lingered again on her chest before grasping for the fabric and drawing it up over her head. She wasn’t sure where he threw it, somewhere behind her, but then that didn’t matter either, because his focus was now decidedly more southern, and the injured look he gave her made her giggle into her hand.

“Have you been wearing these this whole time?” He sounded aggrieved, yes, but that didn’t stop him from slipping two fingers under the thin strap that rode across her hip, snapping the black fabric of the thong soundly. 

Dany gave him a half-smile and pushed against his chest, until he was lying back as best he could against the stuffed seatback. “Tonight or in general?” Her index finger slipped between his pectorals, down the muscles that bisected his abdomen, and stopped, just shy of the waistband of his soon-to-be-parted-with pajama pants. His breath stuttered out tellingly when she ventured further, swiping the lightest of touches down the visible length of his cock, straining against the dark fabric.

“Smart-ass,” he muttered, and whatever clever comeback she’d had planned was forgotten, because his mouth dropped to her nipple, then, and his tongue began worrying it so sweetly that she could only choke out his name and grab for his head. Fuck, she couldn’t remember ever being so worked up, so sensitive and easily-stoked. But then again, she couldn’t remember anyone trying to devour her the way Jon Snow was. His mouth was latched to her skin as if he couldn’t get enough of the way she tasted, biting and teasing before giving a long, laving lick that she was fairly certain she could feel in her cunt.

Dany was done trying to tease herself further, and sealed her pelvis against his, her fingers finally tugging down the fabric of his pants to find his cock and pull it free. They both sighed in unison at the first stroke she gave him, fisting her palm around him loosely, her eyes glued to his face. He was beautiful, absolutely perfect as his eyes slammed shut and his head fell back, her name groaned out in one long, slow sound. 

Oh, yes, there was no question about it. She was ready for him, had been ready so long that she thought she might implode from the want that had infected her and infested itself within her. She held him in her grasp, wanting to dip down and taste the head of him, but wanting to feel that stiff hardness inside her even more.

“Normally I’d like a little more foreplay,” she husked out, giving him another easy stroke as she rose up on her knees above him. He seemed to want his hands everywhere, sliding them from her hips to her ass to her breasts in a desperate, ardent circuit. “But not tonight.” When she smoothed her hand down his length again, he shuddered, and managed a pained laugh.

“You’re about to make this over before it starts.” He painstakingly grabbed her wrist, pulling her hands away from his cock as carefully as if he were diffusing a bomb. Only her black, lacy thong remained, and as he pointedly put her hands on his shoulders, his eyes fixated on the scrap of fabric with uncanny intensity. “Birth control?” 

His sudden change in subject left her surprised for a moment, but she let out a flustered proclamation of “IUD” which was met with a hushed “Thank the fucking Gods,” against the skin between her breasts.

Then, for lack of any more fitting description in Dany’s list-addled mind, he attacked. She’d gotten marginally used to the hot, wet pinch of his mouth and teeth worrying at her nipples but he had been holding back, before.

That was clear to her now.

Whatever hesitation had existed was gone, and Jon was unleashed, trapping his cock between their bodies (and out of reach of her hands, for now, and likely by design) as he pulled her against his chest, her knees sinking more deeply into the couch cushions on either side of his hips as his mouth found hers again.

She was just as mindless, almost as quickly, her right hand gripping at his neck, nails pricking into the skin, while her left clutched onto his shoulder for dear life. Her hips had clearly decided their own course of action, rolling against the stiff length of his cock, the lace between them doing little to hamper the wetness seeping from her and smearing along the flushed, hard skin.

Jon groaned at the sensation, his mouth tearing away from hers, and he panted, slipping the hand not teasing at her sensitive nipple down between them to let his fingers explore the slick, weeping folds behind the thin layer of lace that kept her from being completely bared to him.

“Fuck, Dany,” he breathed, his eyes almost black in the dim light of his living room, the television playing some random infomercial, their scary movie marathon a complete bust.

She couldn’t think of a night that had gone better in a long time, and she bit at her lip, giving him a wanton look through her lashes as she circled her hips against his questing fingers, letting out a soft cry as he finally, blessedly, glanced across her clit, a move he subsequently repeated, earning a whimper as he toyed with her, changing his rhythm and speed, as if he was trying to work out what she liked best.

Dany found that oddly touching, but couldn’t focus on it for too long, her body acting all on it’s own now. The sounds of his fingers slipping wetly through her and against her were only making her more aroused, and soon the abrading fabric of the lace was too much. She stood, quickly, breasts bouncing at the movement and apparently hypnotizing him as he stared up at her, open-mouthed, while she stripped off her panties and tossed them somewhere, anywhere, just _away._

Gods, he was beautiful, so hungry, waiting, watching her like a hawk, hands twitching to touch her. But just as she made to climb back on top of him, to ease that aching emptiness inside her, he stood, and grabbed her hand, and was suddenly tugging her down the hallway she knew led to his room.

She didn’t ask why, but he explained anyway. “Ghost was watching us, and it was getting kind of creepy. Sorry.” 

It seemed insane, objectively, to find herself laughing, naked, in Jon Snow’s hallway, about to go in his room to have sex with him, escaping his voyeuristic dog. But it was happening, and like frankly everything about this arrangement, she saw little reason to do anything but just go with it. At least for tonight, she mused, as he led her into his room and switched on a bedside lamp.

She’d seen this room before, a few times, but just in passing. It was surprisingly neat; besides the small pile of clearly worn clothes in a pile by his closet door the floor was clean, and he had a sturdy chestnut bed frame and dresser, the room free of clutter and knick-knacks but still tasteful, done in a variety of blues and grays.

“That’s okay,” she said quietly, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, and very, very unclothed.

Jon seemed a little less shy about his nudity, and she decided it was alright to openly admire him, getting the full frontal view and finding herself giving him a pleased hum as he stepped right up to her and pulled her to him again. Together, they looked down and saw the way her breasts were mounded and pushed against his chest, and without even thinking about it she squirmed a bit in his arms, brushing the tips of her nipples against his skin.

“Ohhhhh.” She moaned, and shivered, and did it again, chasing that spark it stirred within her, aided by his hot palms suddenly cupping her ass. Jon claimed her mouth the moment she raised her head against, and it all seemed so much more real, now. Sex with Jon wasn’t some abstract notion she occasionally wondered about after too much wine and Hallmark movie marathons, it was happening, right this minute, and if his cock wasn’t inside her soon she was gonna lose it. “Jon,” she whimpered against his mouth, when their lips parted for breath, “Fuck me.”

For a moment he looked like he might cry, but she realized, at the animal noise that rose from the back of his throat, that he wasn’t upset by her blunt request, not even a little. She was lifted, and then she was moving, his cock rubbing teasingly against her core and driving them both a little mad as her feet locked behind his back while he carried her to his bed.

Jon was on top of her the moment her back touched his comforter, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed this, that general weight of a man’s warm, hard body on top of her, until this second. She spread her knees for him easily, planting her feet on the bed and letting him look his fill at her pink, glistening cunt. She reached down and slid her fingers down to her slick folds, spread them for him as well, thrilling at the feral look he got when his dark, starving eyes met hers again.   
  


“I need to be inside you,” he gritted out between clenched teeth, leaning back up her body, his hands planted on either side of her head. “But I need to ask you a favor.”

She stopped teasing with herself, and raised her newly wet fingers to slide them up and down his cock, smiling as it bobbed in her hand. “Of course.”

He reached down, and together, they lined him up at her entrance, his cockhead just bumping against her center. “I haven’t had sex since my divorce,” he said in a rush, every tendon in his neck seeming to stand out as he remained just shy of entering her. “So when I do this, you gotta promise me to stay still for a minute, yeah?” He thrust, shallow and quick, as if he couldn’t help it, and the head of his cock bumped up against her clit, making her whine and grind up against him, chasing the contact.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, not even caring anymore how desperate she sounded. “I haven’t either,” she said a little sheepishly, and now the hunger in his dark stare was tempered with something she might not have anticipated: understanding. “Probably a good idea to let me adjust.” She pumped him lightly, making a tremor pass through him. “Especially to this.”

Together, they held their breath, as he slowly pushed into her. Inch by inch, he thrust in, until he was fully seated inside her, his size stinging and making her eyes water as they both froze.

Oh.

The tiny word bounded and ricocheted through her mind, and she could see it, that same little shock, that niggling surprise, that had washed over her the moment his cock had bottomed out inside her.  
  


Oh. _Oh._

He felt so good, so astoundingly good, lodged so perfectly inside her. She didn’t know what to make of it, wasn’t sure it had ever felt like this for her before.

Then he pulled out, slowly, until just his cockhead lingered, and drove home again, and her whole body moved up the bed at the motion.

“Jon, please,” she keened, fingers scrabbling for purchase at his shoulders as he let his forehead drop to hers, their noses brushing as he gave her several experimental rolls of his hips, gaining his bearings. Her eyes had slammed shut at his first delicious slide into her cunt, but they opened when he stopped, again. He froze above her, buried to the hilt, eyes boring into hers. The look there, in his gray eyes, made her still as well.

It was so personal, so intimate, something she had forgotten, and maybe she’d never felt this, before. It was like he saw through her, down, down, way down deep into all her weeds and mess and fuck-ups. She didn’t know what to say, for a moment, so she just stayed in it, in whatever this was, between them, before she broke the silence.

“I haven’t had sex since my divorce either, Jon,” she said, and brought one knee up, hooking her foot against his back, trying to hold him closer. “Please. Fuck me.”

That snapped him out of whatever haze he’d been lost in, and Jon rose up, pulling out of her and making her moan, grabbing for the leg already wrapped around him and hooking his elbow under her knee. With a smug grin, he grabbed for her other kneecap with his free hand, pinning that leg to the bed. He bumped against her again, the rounded head of his cock nudging, and she found herself smiling as well when she raised her eyes from the sight of him, so close to where she wanted him. “Get ready for the worst two minutes of your life,” he jested, and then he was splitting her cunt again, his cock keeping a much steadier, more frantic pace as he began to fuck her with purpose.

Dany normally considered herself a bit of a shy bedfellow, always mindful not to be too loud or out of control, always worried about what angle she was being seen from, especially as her ex-husband’s interest had seemed to wane. And he’d been her first, her only real instruction when it came to fucking in general.

But Jon...it was different with him.

He made her feel crazy, the way his cock was dragging along the walls of her cunt, the way he was hitting a place that made her want to scream, the way he was giving it to her faster and harder each time she cried out his name and an assortment of Valyrian swears. She was just heat and want and out of control, and Jon didn’t seem to care at all. Each obscenely loud noise she unleashed just stirred him further, until he was little more than an animal, too.

“Fuck, Dany,” he growled against her ear, his head dropping, his breath more of a low, hungry rasp. “So good, oh fuck. They shuddered, together, with each forceful thrust, and Dany had never, ever come before just from a man’s cock, but tonight seemed to be a night for impossible (and pretty awesome) things, and it was happening. A yell was building in her throat, her spine arching sharply as she broke apart around him, helpless to his relentless pace and the way he seemed made to fit her, to fuck her, to make her orgasm so hard she thought she might pass out.

It seemed to last forever, and her whole body tingled, from head to toe, as euphoria reached out and claimed her completely.

He didn’t last long after he felt her fly over the edge, her cunt milking him like a rippling vice, and then he was jerking and groaning, his thrusts stuttering as she felt him flood her.

A few more shallow thrusts and he winced and pulled out of her, his softening cock slipping free, and rolled over to her left. Together, they lay on their backs, side by side, staring up at his plastered ceiling as they tried to catch their breath and calm their racing hearts.

She felt soft and boneless, like she was drifting across the sea. She closed her eyes, and felt the smile start, and once it started she couldn’t stop it, no matter how she tried to contain it. It was probably weird, to grin like a crazy person right after having sex with a man who was, at best, her friend.

Dany looked at him, anyway, giggling like a maniac the minute she saw the shit-eating grin on his face. His eyes darted to her, and he tried to pout, she could tell, but then he started laughing, too. She decided to just stop overthinking everything, and rolled onto her stomach, crawling up onto his chest until their faces were even. “That was a lot more fun than I remember it being,” she whispered, still laughing and tracing a finger between his brows and down to the tip of his nose. With a sidelong look, she nodded to his alarm clock. “And longer than two minutes.”

Jon chuckled, and after a moment of hesitation, threaded his fingers into her hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Lucky you,” he muttered with a wry smile. “Felt like that was gonna be a close one, but we made it. High five.” He held up his free hand, palm up.

“Are you serious?” She rolled her eyes but laughed all the same, finally slapping her palm against his and then settling down against his chest. “You are ridiculous.” She felt languid and loose and carefree, and sighed against his skin. “Should I go?”

Looking down at her, he shook his head, then leaned away to turn off the bedside light. “Nah. it’s fine. But listen up, don’t think I’m going to be out there making some fancy breakfast or something. You’ll be lucky to get coffee out of me, miss.”

Dany snuggled her face into his chest and nipped at his skin playfully. “Just for that I’ll expect two cups of coffee.”

\------------

She woke up to a face full of hair.

Well, fur was the more precise definition, Ghost’s big body cuddled right next to her, dominating the space in the middle of the bed. She yawned, noticing the dog’s eyes shot open when she made a sound, and Dany scratched between his ears and murmured a sleep-roughened ‘good morning’ to the dog as she sat up and took stock of her surroundings.

Jon’s room.

So, that had happened, last night. Her eyes flew to the alarm. 6:45 a.m. Okay. Deep breaths, she urged herself, just be cool and think.

The dark navy sheet slipped from her body as she sat up, and she cursed at the cold on her now bare skin as she raised the sheet from her lap to confirm for herself that yes, she was very naked, and there was a telltale stickiness on her thighs. She blew out a breath, cheeks rounding, and began twisting and fiddling with the material between her fingers as she thought.

Okay, this was not a big deal. That was the whole point, right? This was a friendship and an arrangement between two consenting adults, she reminded herself, and if those adults had decided to have really _quality_ orgasms together, well, what was the problem with that?

Nothing, she told herself firmly, and resolved that she was not going to have some sort of existential crisis in Jon Snow’s bedroom. She could save this little breakdown for later. For now, she climbed from the bed, giving Ghost one last pet and making her way through the partially open door off his room, which she discovered correctly was his bathroom.

It was nice, a big antique clawfoot tub against the tiled wall, a standing shower tucked just beside it. The toilet, she guessed, was around the partial wall, hidden from view, and she quickly did her business before taking stock of herself in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Her hair was a tangled silver nest, wild and flying around her head. She could see a few small marks, scattered at the column of her throat, the skin of her chest, just along the outer curve of her right breast. She was alarmed, when she met her own eyes again, when she saw the pleased little smile on her own face.

“Stop,” she ordered her reflection, and forced herself away, taking a moment to figure out how Jon’s shower worked before turning the water on as hot as she could get it.

She stepped under the spray and closed her eyes, letting the scalding water rush over her skin.

So, as far as she could see, there were two choices on how to proceed.

She could go downstairs and be supremely awkward, because now she and Jon had seen each other naked, and had seen each other’s orgasm faces, and where exactly did one go, after that? Being awkward was the option if she wanted this to end, today. Not the arrangement, but the sex, certainly. She could make it weird and then they’d just never speak of it again, and go on pretending and groping each other until they hit their six month or Robb-and-Marg split mark.

She reached for one of the lone bottles in the shower stall, some sort of man product that proclaimed itself to magically be shampoo, conditioner, AND body wash. She very highly doubted it would do the job of her own washes and rinses, but this was all she had.

Her other option was, of course, to go downstairs and demand he show proper guest etiquette by providing her with a cup of coffee, at the very least. Then she could grab her sketchpad out of her car, and get in an hour or two before she really had to start the day. It was a Sunday, anyway, so it really didn’t matter how long she spent sipping at her coffee and drawing Jon and his dog in a variety of scenes, some she showed him, some she didn’t.

If she acted like things were totally normal and fine, they would most likely fuck again.

So what the decision really came down to, she thought as she rinsed her hair, now smelling like something billed as a ‘Mystic Mountain Morning’ on the red plastic bottle, was if she wanted to have sex with Jon again.

Dany shut off the water, squeezing as much liquid from her long, now mostly untangled hair as she could before she stepped onto his plush white bath rug and grabbed for a towel.

She dried off, and returned to Jon’s room, finding the door now open and Ghost gone. Jon must’ve popped in, because the last time she checked she didn’t know of any very aged enormous white dogs that could make beds.

Sitting on top of the comforter was just one item, and her silly smile returned as she raised the garment. The ‘Snow’s Hardware’ t-shirt was the very same one he’d offered her last night, she suspected, and she slipped it on, hanging up her wet towel and padding down the hall, hands aching with nervous trepidation.

Dany was a foot from entering the kitchen when she made her mind up well and completely, firmly settled on how she wanted this to go. This wouldn’t last forever, they both knew that, but did that mean there was anything wrong with finding some enjoyment together, before it ended, no strings attached?

No, she decided, nothing at all.

Jon was standing by his coffee maker, and she could hear the drip of the hot liquid filling the decanter, as she stared at his back.

“Hey,” she said, clearly, evenly.

Jon jumped, clearly startled, a hand pressed to his heart as he spun around. “Fucking hells,” he said, frowning, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Dany laughed under her breath and came to stand beside him at the counter. For a second he just looked at her, taking in her wet hair and bare legs and feet, the way his shirt was almost comically large on her as it hung from her frame, and she nudged her hip against his and grabbed a cup from the mug tree near him. “Outta the way, I need my coffee.”

Jon scoffed and muttered under his breath, but she saw the tiny grin as it flashed across his face. “You are a terrible guest.” He poured them both a cup as the machine finished brewing, and hooked a thumb towards his fridge as he carried his cup to the small dining table in the little breakfast alcove just off his kitchen. “Food’s in there. Don’t eat my turkey sandwich.”

Dany added some cream and sugar, stirring, spoon clinking against the ceramic as she frowned mightily at him. “Why would I eat a turkey sandwich for breakfast? Who would do that, ever?” She let the question hang in the air as she opened the fridge door and snagged a yogurt from the box on the top shelf. “Spoons?”

He pointed, and she followed, and finally she joined him at the table, facing the big picture window in the alcove. She tucked into her yogurt, her stomach rumbling loudly even as she ate, famished from the prior night. After the third rumble she heard the paper rustle, and Jon was giving her a considering look, the news forgotten.

“Gods, come on.” He stood abruptly and waved for her to follow him back to his room, and after several searching moments in his bureau drawer he pulled free a pair of sweatpants, then reached in another drawer for a pair of thick socks. “Put these on, let’s go by your place so you can change into actual clothes, and let’s go get something to eat. I’m fucking starved, and you are apparently moments away from your stomach consuming itself.”

Dany faked a smile, smothering the laugh that wanted to break free. “Oh, Jon, why yes, I’d love to go grab breakfast with you. Thanks for asking so nicely.”

He snorted and flipped her off. “Fuck off, Dany. Just so you know, you’re paying. Maybe next time you won’t be such a rude guest.”

Dany stalked towards him, a smile growing as his eyes widened and his breath caught, his gaze straying down to where her nipples pressed against the cotton t-shirt. “Oh, I’m fine with paying,” she drawled, and put her hands on her hips. “But just so _you_ know, I will be expecting you to put out.”

There it was. It was out there, now, this acknowledgement of precisely what they’d gotten up to last night, and if he wasn’t interested in fucking her again, he would correct things now. This was a trial balloon, really, to see if he would pop it or let it fly.

He gave her a taunting laugh, but his eyes were twinkling when he paused in the doorway before leaving her to change in privacy. “Well, just so you know, I was already going to put out. So you can just stew on that, lass,” he said firmly, teasingly. “Now put on some clothes, or I’m putting out now, and you’ll be lucky if we eat by lunch time.”

She was still laughing to herself when she pulled on the thick warm socks. This, she thought, could be the beginning of a beautiful little arrangement between them.

Why didn’t more people do this?


	3. The Blind Leading the Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany's amended arrangement gets some much-needed ground rules. Smut. Hijinks. Personal revelations. Clink-Clink, bitches, and welcome to the Holidays!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has two thumbs and meant to wrap this up in one final chapter but then realized it was already at 15k and had an xmas fic to wrap up and was like 'YOU DUMB BITCH JUST ADD ANOTHER CHAPTER 4 CHAPTERS IS FINE"?
> 
> This girl :)
> 
> Yep, and at 15k, this chapter is a bit of a journey as we travel November with our favorite pair of grouchy fuck buddies!
> 
> And yes, I am adding one final chapter, because they had too many things they wanted me to include, this Jon and Dany, and they're really bossy so here we are. Enjoy the smut and silly shit and yes, there's even some angst :)
> 
> The first of my two Christmas Fics is live tomorrow, with my second (and longer) xmas fic appearing on Christmas Day! And after Christmas we'll wrap up the tale of these two dysfucntional love birds as they finally come to terms with what has actually happened.
> 
> I hope you all have safe and happy Holidays, whatever you celebrate!
> 
> Extra special big hugs to Mags and Zarya my best mom friend, for their endless and relentless backing of Mr. Joe Snow in all his brooding snarky glory. #JOESNOW2024
> 
> (P.S. unbetaed as always - no moodboard yet but between Mags and Erika I'm sure one will be created with such majesty, such sheer beauty, that it will literally sear your retinas. In the meantime excuse my booboos I'll reread this later and freak out about shit I didn't see on my last read-through and fix it, that's kind of the routine.)

* * *

* * *

  
Things were fine.

That was weird. Dany couldn’t shake the feeling, after she left Jon’s place pleasantly sore Sunday evening, that things shouldn’t be fine. She and Jon had sex. Real, full-on, completely naked sex with each other.

Real sex that had been really, really good. Mind-blowingly good.

The occurrence of sex at all should be enough to give her pause. It had seemed like a great idea, even before they’d hit the bourbon. She didn’t regret it, either. Not exactly. She knew what regret felt like, acutely, and this was something else.

Dany couldn’t quite put her finger on it, though. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this specific way. Since this whole thing had started it had grown, this indefinable thing that made her feel like she was on a roller coaster constantly, just an endless ride of dips and valleys that made her heart pound and her stomach swarm with angry bees just after.

It wasn’t regret.

She snorted under her breath, standing at her darkened kitchen window, washing up her few dishes after a quiet dinner in front of the television, Drogon curled beside her. Drying her hands, she reached for a glass of the Dornish red she’d opened earlier, sipping at it absently as she caught her reflection in the window glass. She looked tired, even to her own eyes, and the truth was she hadn’t been sleeping well, in the two nights since she’d slept in Jon’s bed.

No, not regret. She wasn’t sure any woman alive would regret coming so often in such a small stretch of time. Sixteen hours sounded like a lot, but they’d slept a considerable portion of that, and in the time left to him Jon had made her orgasm more than she ever had in her entire marriage.

Not that Daario had ever been so concerned about making sure she was satisfied.

She blew hair out of her face and stared at herself. Yes, she looked tired, and maybe, horrifyingly, a little sad. Shockingly, she actually missed Jon Snow. The easiest way to explain this to herself was, of course, that she had been in an extended sexual drought since before her divorce, and Jon was some shimmering sexual oasis in the desert, offering her some sort of all-she-could-fuck buffet.

That could definitely be it. And, she reasoned, casting an eye to her phone screen, ignoring her disappointment when it still showed no new messages, he was probably going through something similar. They had parted on fine terms, but she had heard little from him since, and she was starting to wonder if things were getting a little out of control, on her end of the equation.

She was starting to worry that it was more than the sex she missed, and that was the absolute worst possible development that could occur. So she simply wouldn’t. If she felt some sort of longing or yearning, it was nothing more than the lack of physical stimulation he provided after so long with nothing.

This was an arrangement, nothing more.

She gave herself a firm, resolute stare, her reflection the image of a woman who was going to keep her head, and not let her lust convince her mind of things that simply could not, and would not be.

Ever.

Dany placed her clean fork in the drying rack, taking her wine and heading back into the living room, when her phone buzzed against the smooth tile countertop. Apparently, her resolve was only as strong as the silence. As soon as the vibration sounded through the air, her resoluteness simply vanished, and she made a mad dash for the phone, splashing wine all over the new varnish Jon had put on her floors.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless, as soon as her thumb punched the button and the call connected.

“I have three questions.” Jon sounded his normal self, if not a bit sly, and she didn’t even realize the way she’d caught her bottom lip between her teeth until she’d bit down a bit too hard. “Answers are required, I should tell you that now.”

She felt warmth flood her, a smile she couldn’t fight rising as his low voice rumbled in her ear. “I’m not telling you what I’m wearing, pervert.” She tried to smother her giggle behind her hand when he made an offended noise, but she doubted she was successful.

“How dare you!” He sounds mildly aggravated, as he usually does, and she can’t help but picture him as he must be right now. He’s probably sitting on the couch, Ghost lumped up around his feet, and on a hunch she quietly darted over to her side table and grabbed the remote, checking the guide. “I would never ask what you’re wearing, anyway.” There is a beat, and she swore she could hear his cheeky little grin in every word he spoke next. “I always picture you naked, regardless.”

Dany clucked her tongue, but was glad he wasn’t actually there, just then, to see how her cheeks pinked. “Enough about my possible nudity, Joe Snow. What do you want? I’m dying to hear these questions of yours.”

Jon cleared his throat, adopting a more formal tone. “Right. Okay, question one: is Friday afternoon at 2 okay to drop by the paint and trim for your bedroom? It just came in today.”

Slightly disappointed that he asked an actual question, she sighed lightly and flopped onto her couch, ignoring Drogon’s yellow glare as she sat on his tail accidentally. “Sure, that’s fine. I’ll be around.”

“Good.” She heard a whine in the background, and Jon’s light scold. “Ghost, knock it off.” He chuckled. “He’s trying to steal my chips,” Jon explained, and Dany laughed. “Okay, question two, you ready?”

“I think I’m ready.” She finally selected a program from the guide on the television screen, and smiled to herself, knowing the odds were very high he was about to start the very same episode of this stupid show he loved so much. Apparently, tonight they would learn how pinball machines and banjos were made.

“What are the odds we can die tragically in the next week so that we don’t have to go to that stupid fundraiser Saturday?”

Dany burst out laughing, startling her old black cat, who finally gave up on finding peace on the couch and stalked out of the room without a look back. She folded her knees under her and sat back against the stuffed cushions. “I don’t know. How quickly can you get your hands on some poison? Or explosives?”

He hissed out a breath. “Yikes. Gonna take at least two weeks for those.”

She made a disappointed noise. “Well, sounds like we’re going to this charity silent auction, then. Oh, wait, though, speaking of that, I have an idea.” Another giggle rose but she let this one free, a precursor to the entirely immature suggestion she was going to make. “So, I say we spend the first hour just bidding on everything, but there’s a catch.”

“You have my attention,” he said, sounding very intrigued.

Dany let out an evil, exaggerated laugh as a factory worker on-screen began building a very impressive-looking pinball machine. “We can only bid sixty-nine dollars. No matter what it is.”

Jon began laughing so hard she worried he might choke, but she was pleased that, as ever, he seemed on-board for some extremely childish behavior. “Dany,” he finally gasped, “You’re my favorite person. Just ever. Naturally that’s what we’re going to do.”

That set her off as well, and for several seconds there was just the strangely harmonious mix of their laughter threading together. But she collected herself, and let out a breath. “Okay, what’s question three, Joe Snow?”

He hesitated; She heard him start to speak, but then it died off, and that exquisite tension that shouldn’t exist between them built all over. “Last question,” he said slowly, deliberately, “Is why in the fuck are we watching the best show on television separately?”

Her eyes flew to her screen. “How do you know what I’m watching?”

Another low chuckle came, and she would’ve sworn it didn’t stop at her ear, that it tickled down her spine, and skipped along her skin. “I heard the theme song when it played, Daenerys. You can’t fool me.”

Then he waited, and she realized, at last, what he was doing. Things had been fine when they parted, yes, but it wasn’t like they’d sat down and planned out exactly where to go from here, now that they had changed their agreement in a rather drastic fashion.

“Jon,” she said, careful not to sound too excited by the prospect, just neutral to slightly bored. “Do you want to come over and watch this with me?”

“Silly question, of course I do,” he answered, as soon as the question was out of her mouth. She heard a series of noises, punctuated by a loud slam. “On my way. Pause it, I don’t want to miss the part where they load in the pinballs.”

“Gods, Jon.” She scoffed into the phone, knowing she should, knowing it was expected. However, as her voice assured him she was slightly aggravated, her body was operating in a different realm completely, tingling in anticipation, because there was no damn way she believed Jon was just coming over to watch television with her. “Fine.”

His truck engine sounded in her ear. “Awesome. On my way, bye!” She laughed at his rushed declaration.

As soon as he hung up, she was off, racing up the stairs and gathering her hair up into a ponytail with the elastic around her wrist as she went. If she was lucky, she could get a quick shower in before he arrived.

\-------------

He actually wanted to watch ‘How It’s Made’.

She wasn’t complaining, really. She’d had no idea how banjos were made, and once again, she had to concur with Jon that it was slightly interesting information. She sipped at her fresh glass of wine, wondering exactly how to navigate things, now.

This was all so new to her, so many rules she wasn’t quite sure of, so she would try to tread carefully. It was for the best.

As the end credits played, Dany finished off her wine, her whole body humming and begging to be touched. She shifted, glad, at least, that they were seated close enough that the skin of her bare thigh, below the hem of her sleep shorts, was rubbing against his jean-clad leg every time she moved. “So,” she said, still a little unsure, but willing herself to just go for it. He’d been throwing her little glances; She knew the skimpy shorts and thin shirt did little to hide her body from him, the choice she’d considered bold post-shower, skipping her bra, meant her nipples were achingly aware of not just the chill in the room but his solid presence just beside her. “What do you want to do now?”

Jon slowly turned his head to look at her and drank down the last of his beer. Then he quirked his brows and pursed his lips, giving her a thorough perusal as he shifted so that he was facing her instead of forward. “So many possibilities.” He stared up into space and tapped his finger along his jaw thoughtfully. “Maybe you have a thousand-piece puzzle lying around?”

Her horrified, an equally offended face must’ve been exactly what he was looking for. He broke almost immediately, laughing so hard his eyes started to water, and finally, FINALLY he put his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close, pulling until she was straddling him. “You’re an asshole,” she said, but there wasn’t any intent behind it, because for as little as he used it Jon Snow really did have a nice laugh.

“Or,” he said, regaining his composure, but still grinning wildly, “I guess we could fuck, if you insist.” He was the picture of false innocence, eyes wide and earnest. “I’m fine either way, of course.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw set, as she sat atop his lap, studying him. “Oh, really?” He wasn’t about to pin all this want on her. “You’re fine either way?” She tipped her head to the side, ponytail swinging with the motion. “Are you sure?”

Jon’s smile was deceptively slow and easy, a challenge lurking in those gray eyes that she recognized. Even if she hadn’t, the way he brought his palms up to grip the skin just above the swells of her hips was telling enough. He wanted her to initiate things this time.

Maybe he was just as lost as she was.

Dany straightened, on his lap, and in a fluid motion pulled off her top, inwardly thrilling when his eyes widened immediately and his hands grabbed for the now bare skin of her sides more firmly, as though he wanted to put them elsewhere. He was waiting, though, so she would take the lead, even though that was also rather new territory for her. Daario had been the one who drove in the bedroom, and maybe that had been part of the problem.

She could do this.

Wrapping her arms loosely around his neck, she arched her back, slightly, so that there was almost no space between her left nipple and his lips. “Still fine either way?”

“Uh,” he stuttered out, and she shuddered at his hot breath as it rushed out in a humid cloud against her tit. “Yep.” His fingers slipped down to slide against the fabric of her shorts, tracing teasing circles against the material covering her ass.

When he met her eyes again there was no mistaking the daring there.

So she reached down quickly, and popped the fly of his jeans, her index finger slipping below the stiff fabric to find someone hard and throbbing just beneath. “Liar,” she whispered hotly, then dropped her mouth onto his, suckling his upper lip into her mouth, then his lower, until he was moaning and trying to take control of the kiss. She pulled away, the moment he tried to slide his tongue into her mouth.

“You’re absolutely positive?” She added another finger as she whispered out the question, index and middle now tracing the line of his straining cock as far as she could reach, hindered by the unforgiving fabric. “You aren’t leaning one way or the other?”

He was panting, now. “Okay, I was lying.”

Dany inched the zipper down on his jeans, relieved once she was able to tug down his boxers and free his cock from the confines of his layers. A bead of fluid had already gathered on the flushed, rounded head, and she was seized by an urge to taste him, suddenly. She hadn’t, on Halloween. They’d been in a bit of a frenzy, every time they’d fucked before, and so she had missed the opportunity to actually explore him.

This, however, seemed like the perfect time.

She stood, very deliberately, and tugged off her sleep shorts, surprised that she didn’t feel more shy about being bared in front of him. Probably, she thought to herself, as she pushed him back into the couch and climbed up beside him, it was because he was staring at her like he wanted to eat her alive. She crouched beside him on her knees, then leaned down, her eyes locked with his, and licked the head of his cock.

“Fucking hells,” he whimpered, and she smiled, and repeated the motion, lazily, letting her tongue linger and slick against the entire head of him this time, flicking her tongue against the underside and making his whole body tense. His earlier coyness was gone completely, now. “Dany, please.”

She wrapped her hand around him, feeling the way his pulse made him throb just slightly in her grasp. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather do a puzzle?” She punctuated the question by licking a wet stripe from the base of his dick to the tip, wetting him more as she went.

“I hate puzzles,” he said, as he ran a frantic hand down her neck and along her back, only stopping to grab a firm handful of her ass. “This is much better.”

He was distracting her with his fingers, his free hand coming up to cup her jaw loosely, his other skating closer and closer to her dripping cunt, his palm burning against her flesh. She shifted down, startling him, situating her naked body between his spread legs and pushing the coffee table back with her feet so she had room to kneel.

“I might be a little rusty at this,” she said, taking him back in hand, letting her lips hover over the tip of his cock, staring up at him with a half-smile. “So keep that in mind.” She wasn’t even really sure why she said it, other than to keep his expectations relatively low. She only had her ex-husband to judge her ability by, and even blow jobs had been fairly predictable affairs, unfortunately, but she didn’t think Jon would be disappointed.

She hoped not, anyway. That would be horribly embarrassing.

Jon stared right back at her, his eyes dark and excited. “Not that concerned, really,” he managed, stuttering at the end when she decided to part her lips and slip the head of his cock completely into her mouth. She liked his taste, she decided, and sought more of it, suckling at the head of him gently before she took more of him in.

It was coming back to her, this particular little dance, and she relaxed her throat as she began to bob her head, letting her hand chase her lips as the length of his cock began to grow slicker with her saliva.

But she was more frustrated as she went, by the material still hanging open at the base of his cock, and finally she released him and hooked her fingers in the fabric at his hips. “Raise up,” she ordered, and he complied, his complete focus on her now, his cock glistening and practically begging for the return of her mouth by the time she got his pants down and off his sock-covered feet. “That’s better,” she sighed, and crowded close to him, her nipples dragging against his thighs as she returned to his dick.

“Ayeughhhhhhhhh.” His agreement was a garbled mess as she sucked down as much of his as she could in one smooth motion, letting herself fall into a rhythm, listening and repeating the things that made his muscles bunch and gather, made his hips thrust up gently to meet her mouth. He liked a little twist of her hand, as she stroked up, and he let out several choked curses when she rolled her eyes up and let her tongue play openly along his tip, even as her fist still worked. “Gods, Dany, don’t stop.”

She was soaked now, her thighs damp with her own excitement, and she knew she could stop and climb on top of him, vaguely remembering Marg’s suggestion about riding his dick ‘til the sun came up, but she was hooked on his responses to her, the way he made no secret of his enjoyment. It was a new experience, one she realized she very much wanted more of, and so she just hummed, letting the vibration tease him further.

The moment she dropped her head to let her tongue slither along his balls she knew he was close, closer than he wanted to be, judging by his frustrated growl. “Ah, fuck, Dany, I’m gonna come.” He tried to pull her head away, when she immediately moved back up to his cock, but she shook him off. She made sure their eyes remained locked as she began to stroke him more quickly, her mouth and tongue bringing him off so forcefully that when he spasmed and flooded her mouth she couldn’t quite swallow fast enough. The salty-sweet taste of him leaked from the corner of her mouth and down her chin.

Dany swiped at it with her finger, absently sucking the digit into her mouth, only noticing his slack-jawed stare when she’d gotten it clean.

Jon stood, and for one terrible moment she thought he was about to pull his pants up and leave, but he didn’t. He stepped out of them completely, pulling off his blue t-shirt in a hurry, and extended his hand. “C’mon,” he said gruffly, determined. “There’s something I need to do.”

Puzzled and overwhelmingly horny, she put her hand in his and followed as he led her to her room.

\--------------

Dany’s bedroom had not yet been christened in the sexual sense, not that she kept track of things like that, but if she did, she probably would’ve picked a time when it wasn’t down to a bare bones arrangement of her dresser, nightstand and bed alone.

Such concerns were fleeting, though, as she found herself effortlessly tossed onto her bed, Jon Snow sporting nothing but a sly smile as he crawled up after her and insinuated himself between her thighs.

Gods.

Oh, Gods, how was she going to tell him not to do this? Years of marriage had taught her that she just couldn’t come this way, and Daario had eventually stopped trying. Fuck, it was so embarassing, but she didn’t want him wasting time with his mouth on her that could be better spent with his cock inside her.

“Jon,” she yelped, just as he slung each of her legs over his shoulders cheerfully, a nervous excitement curling her toes against his back, because maybe he actually knew what he was doing, and maybe that had been the problem with her ex-husband all along. Maybe it hadn’t been her, like he’d always loved to claim.

With the way Jon Snow was staring between her legs and eyeing her cunt, she was fairly certain he might be a bit of an expert on the subject. He was certainly the first between her thighs who’d looked excited by the prospect, but she ought to warn him, all the same.

Her cheeks burned crimson as she reached down and tangled her fingers in his loose curls, stopping him just as she felt his hot breath against her dripping folds. “Hang on.” She took several shaky breaths as he gazed up at her, expectantly, chest stuttering as she fought the urge to buck up against his lips. “Fair warning, I usually can’t get off this way.”

He got a strange look on his face, thoughtful with a dash of confusion, and just studied her for several seconds before he responded. “What makes you think that?”

She regretted saying anything at all, and let her head fall back against the pillow, releasing his hair and closing her eyes in misery. “My ex-husband,” she confessed, and waited for him to climb off her bed and leave, because surely she was about to die from awkwardness.

She felt his palms curl around her thighs, and then his teeth nipped the tender skin pressed against his head on the right side. Dany gasped and pushed up on her elbows, looking down at him apologetically.

For his part, Jon seemed rather amused, and she wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse at the sight. “Has it ever occurred to you that he might not be the most reliable source of information?” He asked it so carefully, so gently, that she had to laugh, because this was all a bit too surreal.

“I suppose,” she allowed, her eyes clinging to his, unable to look away. “I just didn’t want you to think it was you, if I--”

Jon squeezed her left thigh, then turned his head and pressed another tiny nip to the skin there. “Dany, I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.” She would’ve argued, would’ve tried to remind him that she was much more aware than he was of the way her cunt worked, but he then gave her such a cocky, cocksure grin that she decided to stop talking and let him learn the hard way.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said with a half-smile, elbows parked beneath her.

Then she stopped talking, her breath stolen, when he dipped his head and slithered his tongue directly against her swollen clit. All she could manage was a choked gasp, her right hand flying to his head, her fingers finding his hair again, but she wasn’t about to pull him away. He gave her the flat of his tongue first, then, a laving lick up the full of her cleft, and why was this so different? Why did it feel almost electric, the way Jon swiped his tongue against her, long licks followed by pointed teasing with the tip?

It was impossible not to make noise, not to let him know when he was doing something particularly nice, and through a series of quite delicious patterns that only Jon seemed to know, he pieced together precisely those things that had her whining and rolling her hips up. She arched and tried to get more of his mouth, more of this wonderfully torturous contact, feeling an orgasm building with alarming intensity.

And he knew, too, his eyes trained on her face even as his mouth began to work her more intensely. Fuck, she was going to come, and hard, her eyes rolling back and finally breaking contact with his, her arms going out and her head hitting the pillow as she gave herself over to the magic he was creating with just his tongue and her cunt.

“Oh, Gods, yes, oh, Jon please!” She was completely shameless, now. There was no control to be had, just pleasure, and then he sucked on her clit and she was just _there_ , shattering into a thousand little pieces, fragile as glass, scattered everywhere as light seemed to bloom behind her closed lids. She let loose with an embarrassing string of groans and moan, and then, even worse, a throaty, “Oh, baby, _yes_ ,” that she was definitely going to regret later.

She’d never, ever called someone that in her life.

Dany would just pray he hadn’t heard, and pretend she hadn’t said it.

Yep, that would be fine. Nothing to worry about.

She lay there, swirling in a sea of post-orgasmic bliss, fuzzy and sated, Jon’s smug voice finally penetrating the fog.

“I’m waiting.”

She raised her head, unable to wipe her grin away, to find him still parked between her legs, his head now leaning against her left thigh. “For?”

He clucked his tongue. “Well,” he sighed, “I hate to say I told you so, but--”

Dany clapped her hand over her eyes as she began to laugh. “You really want me to tell you that you were right? Right now?”

He didn’t answer until she uncovered her eyes, a devilish smile lighting his face as he kissed along the skin of her inner thigh, teeth grazing as he went. “No,” he said and shook his head, the bristles on his jaw rubbing against her enticingly. “You can tell me after the next one.”

She tried to catch his jaw but he would not be swayed, kissing just above her mound. “You don’t have to,” she whispered, but neither of them were really convinced. Already, her muscles were tensing, anticipating what he was about to do, but Jon clearly wasn’t going to just repeat his earlier moves.

His right hand joined the game, circling her nub, slipping down to pick up more of her slickness to ease the motion. He seemed to realize she was overly-sensitive there, never flicking over her clit directly, just casual grazes around it as he watched her face carefully. He began to intermix strokes of her fingers through her holds, dancing around her entrance, sometimes teasing her with the tip of his index or middle finger, never giving her what she really wanted.

Soon enough, she was rocking her hips up hungrily, biting at her bottom lip enough to hurt as he finally slid his finger inside her, just one to start with. Her cunt gripped the digit, wanting more, wanting to be filled, and after a few thrusts Jon granted her body’s unspoken request, his middle finger now included as he steadily built her towards another orgasm.

Her head was thrashing about on the pillow, every inch of her on high alert, his fingers finding that spot he’d discovered days before and working it for all he was worth, pushing her over the edge again. She heard him groan, as he felt her come around his fingers, but it was a distant realization in the wake of the shattering release he coaxed from her. Her eyes watered as she shouted his name, her fingers digging into his scalp where she gripped his hair tightly, her hips rolling of their own accord as wave after wave washed over her.

His tongue was merciless now, milking her orgasm, lashing against her clit, prolonging her euphoria until she was boneless on her bed, a whimpering mess, each exhale owning a sound as she slowly came down. Dany tried to lift her hand, to reach for him, but it fell limply to the bed, and he chuckled.

Then he climbed up her body, his eyes even with hers, face damp with her wetness, eyes dancing. “Okay, now you can say it,” he whispered merrily.

“You were right,” she said absently, another aftershock rocking her as she gazed up at him.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding gamely. “I figured I would be.” He dropped his head to her neck, nibbling along her throat, licking along her collar bone before he took one of her nipples in his mouth, keeping his touch light.

She smiled in spite of herself, and tapped her finger against the top of his head, waiting until he looked up at her to speak, his mouth still flicking and teasing against one stiff peak. “Your turn.” She looked at him and winked, feeling exceedingly generous in the wake of his gifted performance. “Whatever you want.”

Jon crooked a brow and raised his head, his lips wet. “Yeah?”

Dany let out a breathless laugh and gave him a nod, watching his eyes crinkle in the corners as he grinned in response. “I think you earned it.”

“Very magnanimous,” he said, shifting down the bed ‘til he was clear of her and then placing his hands on her hips and tugging. “Roll over.”

\-------------

It was well after midnight, but neither of them had succumbed to sleep. Instead, they were lying on top of her covers, completely naked, painted in shadows from the dim glow of her bedside lamp.

Jon was idly toying with a silver curl that fell in a mess down her back as she lay content on her stomach, face turned to the side so that she wasn’t suffocating in her pillow. He didn’t shy away from eye contact, like, ever, and now was no exception. His eyes seemed to glitter as he kept them on her face. Her own hand had taken up a spot just above his navel, flat on his abdomen, locked into place, but it twitched in surprise when he finally broke the peaceful quiet that had stolen over the room after they’d both come again.

Dany had found doggy-style pretty average before, but Jon Snow had found a way to make that exciting as well, and she was starting to worry he was going to ruin her on sex with anyone else.

“So,” he said quietly, lips twitching when her eyes widened at the sound of his voice, “I think we need to amend this again.” A finger swept the space between them, and she actually thought she might cry, wondering how it was that had been so good for her but clearly not for him. Sure, she’d been a little rusty blowjob-wise, but she’d told him that, she’d warned him. She sat up, stiffly, and grabbed for a pillow, holding it over her body as best she could and staring at the wall.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to sound absolutely unfazed. “Sorry to have bored you. That’s kind of my thing, apparently, or so I’ve been told.” To her horror, she felt her eyes grow hot. He needed to go. The last thing she wanted was him to linger and just confirm what Daario had made so painfully clear outside the courtroom, the day their divorce was finalized. He’d cheated because she just couldn’t keep him interested in the bedroom. At the time she’d very much doubted this, especially since the first affair had been mere months after their marriage, but maybe it had been true.

And if that was the case, she needed to be alone. 

Jon’s hand was on her shoulder in an instant, but she tried to shrug it off.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

It was the last thing she expected to hear, and the genuine confusion and concern on her face made the wall she’d hastily thrown up between them start to splinter, but she still held the pillow tight, covering herself, as she shifted around to face him.

“Dany,” he started, then huffed out an aggravated breath and shook his head, his jaw tense and lips tight for several seconds. “Let me ask you a question: Do you remember that first night at the pizza place? When Robb and Marg set us up?”

She nodded, brow wrinkling, but it was enough to calm the storm of self-pity that had welled up inside her, now distracted. “Yeah, of course.”

Jon leaned on an elbow, laying on his side, completely unconcerned that he was having an actual discussion with her completely naked. “Do you think I said I didn’t want to date you because I wasn’t attracted to you physically?”

The line of questioning was just confusing her even more. “Uh, no, I don’t think that entered into my thinking. I mean, I didn’t want to date you, either, but not because I didn’t think you were attractive.”

“Correct.” He seemed more animated the more he spoke. “Now, consider this: I have absolutely no fucking dog in this hunt, and neither do you. This is a mutually-beneficial agreement for both of us, because I don’t know about you, but the only thing I have missed during all this blissful single-ness I’ve enjoyed, is the sex.”

Dany nodded, still not sure what rabbit-hole he was travelling down, but willing to wait it out, because he had to have a point somewhere in this.

“I have absolutely no reason to safeguard your feelings or try to tiptoe around you. Last week, did I or did I not tell you that carbonara you made was a fucking nightmare?”

She cackled, just a bit, because that had been doomed from the start, really, and she’d had no idea what she was doing, and he had been right. But she’d still made him order a pizza for being an asshole about it. “Yes, you did, I cried into my pillow about it all night, too.”

Jon snorted. “Liar.” He grew serious again, holding her eyes, direct and blunt and straightforward as he ever was. “When I tell you that your ex-husband was an absolute fucking failure when it comes to sexually pleasing you, I have no reason to lie about it. That’s my point.”

“Oh.” It made sense, in a strange way, because it was true that unlike the traditional relationships everyone around them had, Jon and Dany were unerringly truthful with each other, just because of the nature of things. They had no need for those little white lies people told when they were trying to win someone over. It was pathetic, what rose in her mind, the words that sat themselves upon her tongue and willed themselves free, but if she wanted the cold hard truth Jon was probably the only person who would give it to her. “So you don’t think I’m boring in bed. Or, wherever,” she gestured wildly for her bedroom door, because technically Jon had come the first time on her couch.

He almost seemed offended. “Have I given you any reason to think I am not fully enjoying myself?”

She thought about it for a moment, running through the past week or so in her mind. “No.”

Her answer only seemed to incense him more. “Then what are you on about?”

It was a good question, she supposed, even though there was a low-level, simmering embarrassment stewing in her stomach that she’d started them down this path at all. It married well with her relief that maybe she wasn’t as hopeless in the sack as Daario had said, maybe it HAD been him, and not her. “You said you wanted to change our agreement. I thought that was why.”

Jon wrinkled his face. “Fuck, no.” His anger seemed to melt away, by degrees, when she smiled, and he relaxed back onto the pillow on his side of the bed, grabbing her arm lightly and tugging her to his chest. “C’mere.” Once she was situated, his heart thumping under her ear, he continued. “Okay, so the way I see it is this: we have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, here, not just to have some really _awesome_ no strings attached sex, but also maybe to try some things we haven’t gotten to before.” His voice, again, grew more excited, and she wondered how long he’d been thinking about this new little wrinkle to their plan.

She was intrigued, and smirked up at him. “Hmmm. Like what? And, while we’re on the subject, why is this,” she used his signature little finger wiggle between them, “so perfect for whatever it is you have in mind?”

Jon sat up, slipping out from under her, his hands beginning the wild gesticulating she’d learned he did when he felt very intensely about a topic. “Think about it, right? We aren’t trying to impress each other, Dany. This is just us enjoying ourselves. And why not? Why shouldn’t we?” He gave her a pointed look, followed up with a jab of his finger. “And you, in particular, well,” he shrugged, “you seem to be suffering from a case of marrying a douchebag, which you wisely parted ways with, but for fuck’s sake, Dany, before tonight you were convinced you couldn’t come from someone eating your cunt. Doesn’t that make you wonder what else you’re wrong about?” His face screwed up, and he cocked his head and kissed his teeth. “Well, at least as far as the sex goes. The rest is your business, not mine.”

A thought flashed through her mind, one so silly she wondered if it was possibly true. The very notion had her bursting into laughter, tears of amusement welling this time as she dropped down onto her side, completely tickled.

“Or…maybe not,” Jon said, and for the first time since he’d arrived he looked unsure, and it made her feel horrible.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head and grabbed for his warm forearm. “That’s not why I’m laughing. It’s just, in this whole scenario, it sort of sounds like you see yourself as like, some kind of sexual Yoda.”

It started as a chuckle, with him, and grew, and then she was blindsided by the pillow he threw at her. She batted it away, finding him sitting, shoulders shaking, eyes shut as he braced his hands on the bed. “Yes,” he wheezed out, around another laugh, “That’s exactly what I’m proposing. Which should be very amusing considering the amount of googling I’m going to have to do if you ask for some off-the-wall shit.”

That prompted another peal of laughter from her, and she lay firmly on her back, feeling his eyes on her as she let out a little hum. “Alright, I accept, but only on the condition that I get to call you Joe-da.”

“No,” he said firmly, and pinched her waist. “Absolutely not.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “Fine. We take turns. Whoever’s turn it is decides how we’ll have sex.”

Jon considered this with the solemnity of a high-stakes business deal. He scratched at his jaw as his brow wrinkled. “The other person gets the right to veto, no questions asked, no hurt feelings. And if you aren’t into something, say so, that goes for both of us. This is about having fun, no judgments, just complete hedonism.”

Dany rolled over and faced him, that little alarm that had been going off quite a few times since she’d entered this little pact with Jon Snow blaring again. She ignored it, because who could pass up an offer like this?

She raised her hand and held it before him, waiting for him to take it. They shook, and grinned at each other.

“Deal,” they said in unison.

\-------------

Jon had taken to calling it ‘Naked November’.

It was, in her estimation, an exceedingly accurate title, because for the ensuing month after solidifying their terms that had spent an extreme amount of time naked.

Just so, so much nudity.

And if she were being completely honest, she would confess she’d never had so much fun, ever.

She felt alive.

It was disarmingly easy, what she was doing with Jon. They hung out and ate and teased each other and talked enormous amounts of shit, and then they fucked, and then they repeated the cycle.

Sometimes they acknowledged how nice it was, and how bummed they’d both be when it reached it’s end. Six months, that was the deal, or until Robb and Marg broke up. At this point, Dany’s concern was that the second would happen before the first, which would be a real tragedy. Even to Jon she might say this was because Marg was her friend, and she didn’t even mind Robb that much, and it would be so terribly sad if they were to part ways, after almost a year together.

But the truth was that she was going to milk this little slice of absolute perfection for all she could, and when it was over, she wouldn’t have any regrets. She would drag Marg into the second week of December, the official six month deadline, if she had to do it kicking and screaming.

Having the best sex of her life was nothing to sneeze at.

By the third week of November they’d really hit their stride. Somehow, it just became the pattern to fuck every day they could. That very day she was dropping off lunch to him at the hardware store, but she also had designs on fucking him in his little cubbyhole office in the back, and she would not be denied her conquest. It was her turn, after all.

The bell rang over her head when she let herself in, the warmth of the store’s interior welcome after the chill outside had pinked her nose and cheeks above her puffy coat.

Jon gave her a little salute and a desperate plea with his eyes, surrounded by his gaggle of elderly admirers, who kept asking for items from low shelves to make him bend over.

Dany felt her eyes narrow, but she edged closer slowly, wondering if she ought to intervene.

When the leader of the group, a little old woman Dany had learned just went by the moniker of ‘Nan’, moved her hand over to Jon’s ass, like she meant to pinch it through the faded denim, she’d had enough.

Quickly, she sidled up to the woman, Jon still unaware that she had come this close, and leaned over. “Do that one more time,” she intoned ominously, “and I’ll break every bone in your body.” She nodded towards the old woman’s hand. “Starting with your fingers.”

It wasn’t like she’d thought through what would happen next, but when the old woman let out a barking laugh, her friends joining suit, Dany felt relieved. She was confident she could take out one, but she’d seen the smaller woman on the left take out a teen with just her boxy purse.

“Oh, Jonny,” Nan crooned, turning to a now upright Jon who was watching them all with no small amount of amusement, “I like this one. Keep her around, boy.” She pinched Jon’s cheek firmly, then waved to her friends, and they moved in a noisy herd for the door.

She had turned her head to watch them go, and she stayed like that, until she heard him tsking under his breath behind her.

“Threatening seniors, Dany? What’s next?”

Dany scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I was defending your honor, which you have requested, if you recall.”

He broke, laughing, and his eyes lit up at the paper sack in her hand. “Ahhhh, lunch, you are an angel, Daenerys, an angel. Come on.” He waved his hand and started walking, and she followed, waving to Edd and Grenn as they passed, until they were secluded in the small space together.

Jon sat in his rolling chair, an ancient leather thing that groaned horribly every time he was in it, and dug into the bag as she perched on his desk, mindful of the receipt carbons and shipping lists stacked on top of it.

“Busy day?”

He took a massive bite from his burger as she asked, chewing and swallowing before he responded. “Eh. So-so. Big rush this morning on pipe wrap and faucet covers, but that’s normal this time of year.” His eyes wandered quickly over her as she shrugged out of her coat and revealed the clingy red sweater and slim jeans she wore, but she didn’t miss the move. “How about you? Anything exciting on tap for today?”

Dany bit at her lip, taking her time to study him in return. He had a whole ‘Brawny Man’ vibe today, a multi-toned blue flannel present on top of his perennially-worn white Snow’s Hardware t-shirt. She knew he had about twenty of them, hells, she had one in her dresser, but still, it was nice to tease him about only owning one work shirt. Not today, though. Today she had something else in mind. “I did have something planned.” She slid off the desk, inserting a knee between his legs and forcing her way between them. She leaned down, and brushed her lips against his lightly. “And it’s my turn,” she whispered, smiling coyly as understanding dawned on his face. Then she took a step back and swiped her own burger from the bag, cracking the can of diet soda he’d already had waiting for it as she resumed her perch on his desk. “But first, we eat.”

Jon nodded easily enough, but she knew what he was doing. He liked to try to guess what she would ask him for, another little game they played, and she could tell he was working up another guess as he reached for his drink. “Hmmm. Handcuffs?”

Dany shot him a withering look. “We literally just did that two days ago. No repeats for a week, remember?”

“Right. Just wishful thinking, I guess. If you change your mind, there might be a pair in that drawer just beneath your foot.” 

Dany laughed and banged her heel against said drawer, listening to the dull metal ‘ding’. She took several bites of her own burger before she dignified him with an answer. “Get back to me after a week. I take it you found the key?”

Jon heaved a weary sigh. “Under the bed. Probably because someone was thrashing around so much.” He gave her a pointed look and then took another huge bite, grinning around it.

“I told you to stay still, Jon.” They ate in companionable quiet, heated looks passing between them as their meals rapidly disappeared, a very different but increasingly familiar hunger replacing it.

He finished before her, watching her like a hawk as she finished her last bite and chased it with the dregs of her soft drink. She daintily wiped at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, giggling as he began to get visibly antsy. The moment she appeared done he was a flurry of motion, tossing away the trash, fishing a stick of gum from his top desk drawer and tearing it in half to split between them.

“Now,” he said, taking his seat again, chair creaking as he rocked and leveled a meaningful stare at her, “let’s get down to business. What’s it going to be today? I’m presuming here?”

She gave him exactly the sort of slow, sinful smile she’d learned would ratchet up his arousal by several degrees, and placed her hands on the metal edge of the desk. “Fuck me on your desk, Jon. And make sure I’ll feel it later.”

Jon stood, quickly, as if she’d leashed him then tugged on it. But the grin that split his face was of a man in complete control. He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Ah, Daenerys,” he said, the words sliding slow and honeyed, dripping from his tongue like molasses. When he said her name like that, he had shifted his focus to one thing and one thing only: fucking her senseless. “It will truly be a pleasure.”

She pressed her thighs together tightly, leaning her head to the side as he bent down, breath stuttering free as he let his teeth graze her jugular. “How do you want me? I want you to pick.”

At her sultry whisper he pulled back, eyes glazed with lust, hands leaving the hem of her sweater to sweep everything from his desk in a cloud of rustling paper. He stepped between her thighs, pulling her ass to the very edge of the desk, and looked down between their bodies. She could see his cock already straining against his zipper, and her hands began to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Just like this,” he said hotly, his hands traveling to the button at the waist of her jeans. “But lose the clothes.”

\------------

Jon Snow had secrets. Not many, but a few, and one in particular: his workshop.

Dany was not allowed in. It wasn’t personal, Jon assured her; He didn’t let anyone in there. Well, except Ghost, but his old white dog was the only exception to his hard and fast rule. The workshop was his personal, private space, something he’d made clear to her early on.

She understood, of course. She’d set up one of her extra rooms as a studio, and had stopped a snooping Jon on more than one occasion when he’d lingered in the doorway a little too long. That room played home to her in-progress ideas, things she didn’t want seen by anyone, creations that were still being formed.

However, unlike him, when he’d asked, she’d complied, and had even shown him a few things few others had seen. He had been especially interested in her dragon sketches. Not the cartoonish, stylized versions she rendered for Rhaegar’s books, but the ones she had been attempting from fossilized remains and ancient texts. Her own ancestors had been rumored to have the beasts, thousands of years ago, and so it was a deeply personal little pursuit.

Jon had been nothing but praise-worthy, had even asked to borrow a few to show his cousin Arya, who was apparently fascinated by all things dragon.

That had been months ago, early on in this little deal, well before they were fucking.

And he still, STILL wouldn’t let her in his workshop.

It was really starting to bother her.

He let her do literally anything she wanted to him physically, but his stuffy old workshop, full of wood shavings and maybe embarrassing things like girlie magazines? That was somehow a bridge too far.

They were sitting on his couch, watching a random documentary on water buffalo that Jon had seemingly found too interesting to pass over, when she brought it up for what had to be the millionth time.

“So, you’re hiding dead bodies in the workshop, right?”

Jon threw her a cautious look. “Are you an undercover cop?”

Dany raised a brow and stole one of his sour cream and onion chips. “Only if we’re role-playing.”

Jon snickered and finally turned his focus directly onto her, though she could very clearly see him changing the subject. “That’s an interesting idea. Whose turn is it today?”

“Mine,” she said emphatically, and then a devious idea occurred to her. She wouldn’t force it, really, but it was worth a shot to see if he had some sort of hoarding situation happening, or something he would be equally ashamed of her seeing. “In fact, I know what I want.”

He must’ve sensed it in her sly tone, because he was immediately suspicious. “Recall I have the right to veto.”

“Let’s fuck in your workshop,” she retorted, immediately scoffing at his sudden and deep frown.

“Vetoed,” he said shortly, and tossed a chip into his mouth. “Of everyone I know,” he continued, around his mouthful, “you would be the last person I let in there.”

Real hurt flashed through her, but she tried to mask it with sarcasm. “Says the man who let me use a whip on him a few days back?”

His glare sharpened. “With extreme prudence,” he corrected.

Dany rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise. “The point stands.”

He held her gaze unflinchingly, and she was entranced, strangely, by the war she saw taking place. His eyes were dark, today, like iron. They changed with his moods, she’d noticed, and right now she did not see the light, soft gray that suggested he was feeling playful and was ready to strip down and fuck her hoarse. No, this was different, and she could see him biting the inside of his cheek, until finally he let out a harsh breath.

“I’ll show it to you,” he said in a clipped voice, standing abruptly. She suddenly felt terrible, like this was an intrusion into something very deeply personal, and she changed her mind, even as she hurried behind him, out the back of the house and down the steps to the small flat stones he’d laid in a path.

“Jon, no, nevermind. I’m reserving my turn for something else. Let’s go back in, it’s fucking balls cold out here.”

He wasn’t even wearing a jacket, just a long-sleeved tee. She was glad she’d at least thrown on one of his oversized sweatshirts, and she curled her fingers into fists under the cuffs to protect the digits from the biting, icy air.

But he acted like he didn’t hear her, just kept walking, boots leaving tracks in the layer of snow that crusted the ground. He was unlocking the padlock that held the bolted door shut before she could raise another argument, then he turned and regarded her, more nervous than she’d ever seen him. “Hang on a minute,” he said, then disappeared, leaving her standing there in the cold for several long moments before he returned, the lights on behind him and a low humming that probably meant he’d turned on the heat.

His reappearance was welcome, and he almost looked apologetic as he took in her chattering teeth, pulling her inside and rubbing up and down her arms briskly after he’d pulled the hanging door closed.

Dany had a few choice curses on the tip of her tongue, ready to unleash them with her usual playful arrogance, but everything flew out of her head as she got her first good look around Jon Snow’s ‘inner sanctum’.

He actually referred to it as that, on several occasions, while claiming he was actually very much like Superman.

But now, as she turned in a slow circle, she had a few realizations.

He wasn’t a hoarder, and the walls weren’t plastered with nudie calendars. So, that was a relief, as was the distinct lack of dead bodies, intact or otherwise.

To her right, along the modular building’s walls, were all sorts of machines, things she’d seen for sale at his store, some she’d never seen, far too big and complicated-looking to take up floor space that he needed for drywall supplies and light bulb displays.

To her left, well, that was the real prize, and when he saw her look that direction he got distinctly twitchy, not seeming sure whether he ought to continue clenching and unclenching his fists nervously at his side or shove them in his pockets. He ended up doing one with each hand, which she knew, as his pretend girlfriend and real sex buddy, meant he had reached the height of discomfort.

He was clearly insane.

To her left was, for lack of a better term, art.

She took slow steps forward, ignoring his hesitant noise as he tried to halt her, shaking off his hand as she crossed to the wall that was floor to ceiling shelves, to get a closer look.

“Did you do all this?”

There had to be nearly a hundred carved pieces, in a variety of sizes, from so many shades and types of wood it made her dizzy. She picked up a crow the size of her palm, poised to fly, his wings so detailed that she could see every individual feather. Then he had clearly polished it, and the smooth surface felt almost warm beneath her hand as she turned it over, taking in every facet, before she turned wide, wondrous eyes to him.

He hadn’t said a word in response, just stood there looking pale, as if he were going to be sick.

“Did you do this?” At her repeated question he finally nodded.

She put the piece down carefully, and let her fingers trail over an assortment of animals, in various stages of ambulation, her eyes straying to a low table tucked into the corner, covered by a sheet. A wolf, howling at the moon no doubt, stole her attention, and she knelt before it, her eyes even with the wolf’s open, crooning mouth. On this piece he had added shadow and texture by actually burning it, if she wasn’t mistaken, besides just carving out the detailed fur. It was impressive, the control he must’ve had to create such gradients even within the same patch of wood.

Dany straightened, and shook her head at him, taking a testing step in his direction. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before now? Jon, this is amazing.”

He let out a heavy breath and turned, picking up what looked to be chisels in a variety of widths, tucking into a pouch. He avoided looking at her, choosing instead to start tidying up the place. “I don’t know,” he said with forced lightness. “It’s just a hobby, Dany, it’s not a big deal.”

“Jon.” He kept his back to her, and she didn’t like it, the way he was closing himself off to her before her eyes. That had been the one thing she appreciated the most about whatever this was they were really doing. They had been open with each other, honest, or as best they could be. It was how this all worked, she’d thought.

But now he was shutting down and it set her teeth on edge.

She took a moment to count to ten, walking back to his finished works and smiling gently at the tortoise the size of a dinner plate on the center shelf. She stroked a fond finger across the indentions Jon had made in the shell, still completely lost as to why he’d hid this away from her. Of anyone, wouldn’t he know she would appreciate this the most? She was an artist, for fuck’s sake, she--

Then she understood, and there was a sad twist of compassion for him, one that made her anger flood out like the tide receding on some distant, sandy shore. He was afraid of what she would think, her most of all, for that very reason. She heard him in her mind, what he’d said before they’d come out, when she’d pressed him about this place, what he was hiding.

Jon’s thing was trust. They weren’t super-secretive about their ‘things’, Jon was very much aware of the head job her ex had done on her, of all her little hang-ups that she was slowly trying to figure out.

And Jon? Well, he’d seemed guarded before, sure, but that night they’d shared their divorce horror stories had given away his biggest baggage.

By showing this to her he was exposing himself to her in a way that was far more invasive that being naked or sex or any of their shenanigans to this point. By showing her this she could hurt him, that was what he thought, because he didn’t think he was any good. She could see it on his face. And to him she was a ‘real artist’. One word from her and she could crush him, confirm his own doubts, violate the trust he’d shown by popping that padlock and opening the doors.

That’s what his ex-wife would’ve done. She was sure of that, as well, because she’d heard enough about the woman, how towards the end she’d liked to do that to him, take the things that mattered and use them to hurt him where it wouldn’t just scab and heal, it would scar. He had trusted that woman with his secrets and dreams and they’d been turned into weapons.

He was afraid she would do that, too.

It was just a theory, of course.

But it was enough to make her linger a little longer, picking up a sleeping fawn the size of a handbag and running her fingers over every ridge and curve his hands had made. She smiled to herself as she looked down, knowing he couldn’t see, because it shouldn’t have been so surprising that he could do something like this.

He was very good with his hands, as she could well attest to.

She resisted the urge to go and touch him, pretended she didn’t notice the anxious way he was opening and closing the metal drawers of his workbench, and approached an odd piece of machinery.

“What’s this?”

Jon glanced over quickly. “Planer.”

So, it was going to be one-word answers, then.

“And this?”

She pointed to the next, and finally, he looked at her for more than two seconds. “A lathe.”

“A lathe,” she repeated, and nodded. She eyed the equipment again, trying to figure out exactly what it was. “Do you use it for those?”

He tracked the direction her finger pointed, towards the beautiful pieces he’d made, over Gods knew how many years, and shook his head, his face finally starting to soften from the tense mask he’d held it in. “Ah, no,” he said, and though it looked reluctant he came to stand beside her, shoving both hands in his pockets now. “That’s for different work.”

“Like what?”

Maybe he finally allowed himself to hear the genuine interest in her voice, or maybe he was just trying to fill the dead air, but either way he seemed to snap back to his regular self then, making considering noises with his teeth and lips as he searched for a particular block of wood, a long, skinny rectangular piece. As she watched, he mounted it onto the lathe, affixing it at both ends, explaining as he went.

“Now,” he said, his foot stepping down on the pedal by his feet, and making the wood begin to spin so that it became a blur, “watch this.”

He’d raised his voice over the machine’s hum, but it was only his hands she focused on when he picked up a longer version of the chisels he’d put away before and began to press it only the wood. It reminded her, vaguely, of turning pottery, how he began with this formless block of wood and, by pressing the tool in places, likely adjusting his pressure, he began to reveal his true intent. Here he narrowed down to a taper, only to give way to a fluid curve, widening the piece, then bringing it back down.

She inched closer, mindful not to get her loose hair anywhere near the spinning object, and let out an amazed breath as she watched him work. “It’s lovely,” she breathed.

Dany expected him to keep going, as he’d only made it halfway down the wooden piece, but instead he shut the machine off, watching with her as the machine slowed to a stop. He cleared his throat and ran a finger along his progress. “It’s how I made the legs for my kitchen table.”

Her eyes popped open. “You made that?”

Whatever he saw in her eyes must have pleased him, or at least calmed him considerably, because he was no longer the same man who’d unlocked this shop with trembling fingers and foul humor. “Well,” he said quietly, and stood, pulling her over and taking her hand in his to smooth her palm along the tapered end, “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

Her knowing grin rose immediately, but she was slow to turn in his arms and face him, his heat seeping into her skin as she skimmed her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “Hmmmm,” she hummed, brow arching at him as she gazed up into his face. “Most of the time.”

Jon sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, giving her a narrow look, or trying to, at least. His hands were already climbing around her waist and under the sweatshirt she’d lifted from his dryer and were tucking themselves into the waist of her leggings. “Most of the time is unacceptable.” All was right with the world, because there was that heated edge to his low, rumbling voice that always seemed to flip her inner horny switch firmly into the ‘on’ position. “Daenerys,” he intoned, sweeping her hair off her shoulder and brushing his lips against her earlobe. “Do you really want to fuck in here?”

She gave him her cheekiest smile and pinched his ass through his jeans. “No,” she said, giggling when he flinched away and gave her a cross look. “But it is still my turn, so I choose inside the house.” She tipped her head, pretending to think. “Dining room. Fuck me on the table.”

Jon was horrible at trying to act scandalized, but she allowed it, because it was all part of the foreplay at this point, she wasn’t blind to that. “Where people eat, Dany?”

With a throaty laugh she leaned back into him, making sure to press her tits tightly against his chest, slipping a hand into his back pocket to bring their hips into contact. “I have a blindfold in my purse.”

The world twisted for her as she suddenly found herself lifted and tossed over his shoulder, and she could barely hear him over her own laughter as he began to sprint from the workshop, bouncing her with each jogging step. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He cracked his hand down on the closest part of her ass he could reach, and the way it made her shudder gave her another idea.

“Jon,” she called out sweetly, as he clambered up the steps to the porch, “I want you to do that again inside, too.”

His groan was enough to make her cunt clench, to make her even slicker and wetter for what was to come. “This was the best idea ever,” he called out in return, and closed the back door behind them both.

\--------------

By the time night fell, they’d found their way to his room, but Jon hadn’t let Ghost in because of the so-called ‘dirty looks’ he claimed the dog was giving him. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, the drag of his fingers up and down her back, a regular move by now, almost enough to lull her into an exhausted sleep.

But she still felt unsettled from earlier, and she needed to say what she’d wanted to say then, so she sat up, finding his face in the dark, his eyes catching a little moonlight as he looked up at her.

“Thank you for showing me your workshop, Jon.” Unthinking, she found his hand, and laced their fingers together.

“You tricked me,” he retorted, but there wasn’t any venom in his voice.

Dany grimaced a little in acknowledgement, and giggled. “Maybe a little.” She sucked in a breath, knowing how odd it was that they could openly share their sexual wants but something like this felt so much more intensely personal. Nothing about this was normal, really, but it worked, and she wanted to keep things that way while they still had time on the clock. Then again, she couldn’t say nothing, so she just went for it. “I have to admit I’m jealous.”

Jon looked so mystified that she chuckled. “Feel left out because you don’t have your own lathe?”

She squinted at him and frowned, then raised the hand in hers and examined it in the moonlight. He had beautiful hands; long, elegant fingers, large palms, not too smooth, not too rough. Perfect. “I’m honestly amazed by your work.”

He scoffed under his breath and looked away. “I told you, it’s just a hobby, Dany. It’s not even ‘work’, okay? Just something I started doing in the Army to pass the time. Turns out there’s a lot of sitting on your ass when you aren’t in the shit.”

Dany gave him an appraising look. “So, ten years or so. Makes sense. The detail you were able to capture, it’s just,” she shook her head, “I’ve never been good at three-dimensional, you know? I can capture things on canvas, or sketch them, sure. Oils, pastels, charcoal, that’s my wheelhouse. But I can’t do that, what you do.” She shrugged, and gave him a tiny smile, a genuine smile. “So, I’m jealous.”

Jon finally sat up, too, his hair a wild halo of dark curls around his head, and she wasn’t sure anyone had ever given her such a piercing look while completely naked before. He just stared at her, for what felt like forever, then squeezed her fingers with his. “Are you bullshitting me because I made you come three times today?”

She made a strangled noise in her throat then wrinkled her face at him when he began to laugh. “No,” she said, smacking her hand lightly against his shoulder. “We don’t do that, did you forget? Someone told me, and I can’t quite place who it was.” she scratched at her chin, pretending to mull it over, “But someone definitely told me that we have no reason to lie to each other like actual couples do. Whoever it was, they had a remarkable ass, that much I remember.”

He clucked his tongue, but she could see the smile flirting at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like some asshole I know.”

Dany knew he wanted to end the conversation, didn’t want to dwell on this thing he’d revealed, and she understood. The hand not still tucked in his snuck up to tweak his nose, and she grinned at him in the darkness. “I think his name is Joe.” She leaned in and pecked her lips against his, her next words whispered against his mouth as she felt his lips curve in return. “Or Jon, something like that.”

He kissed her, soundly, and she melted into it, sleep creeping in around the edges of her consciousness, exhausted and strangely content as he pulled her back down onto the pillows, spooning around her as he tucked his body against hers and let out a hot breath into her hair. “Thanks, Dany.”

She didn’t ask what for. She already knew.

That was the thing with Jon - he was easy to understand, once you got to know him.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly into the darkened room, and smiled as his arm tightened around her waist.

\-------------

Thanksgiving was a quiet affair, at least for Jon and Dany, who had been tactfully banned from the Stark gathering after their Halloween display and instead spent the day mostly naked, eating turkey sandwiches and watching parades then taking what Jon called ‘orgasm breaks’.

By the first day of December they’d fully adopted the term, mostly by text, to see if the other was free. Dany was in her kitchen, not alone, but not with Jon, instead finding herself splitting a bottle of wine with Margaery in the middle of the afternoon.

The invitation for a girl’s afternoon had been a bit of a surprise, but Dany had agreed, concurring with Marg that it had been far too long since their last, but as she watched the other woman knock back her third glass in one swallow, she felt a knot of dread form in the pit of her stomach.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she discreetly checked it, seeing a familiar text.

_Jon: orgasm break?_

Her eyes shot to Marg, who was starting to look a bit tipsy, and Dany nudged the plate of crackers and cheese and fruit closer to her friend before she typed out a quick response.

_Dany: Marg here, drinking like a monster, will call u later?_

After spamming her with about twenty frowny-faced emojis, he gave her a quick ‘OK’ and a crying emoji, and she allowed herself a small eye roll before she tucked her phone away and turned her attention back to Margaery.

“Is everything okay?” She sipped her wine as Marg’s face fell a little, and the auburn-haired woman reached listlessly for a grape.

“I mean, I guess?” Chewing absently at her grape, Margaery’s face creased, with what emotion precisely Dany couldn’t quite tell. “Can I ask you something?”

More than a hint of trepidation made her take a large swallow of wine before she answered. “Sure,” Dany said, wincing internally, bracing herself, because she’d known Margaery for a very long time, and she’d rarely seen her like this. Morose was not a term used to describe Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden, but that’s what she was. “Fire away.”

“Gods, I don’t even know how to ask this. It’s so improper.”

Dany finished off her wine and poured them both another glassful. “That’s never stopped you before.”

The old Marg seemed to return as the other woman snorted lightly. “True.” Then she sighed and picked up her glass, swirling the red liquid around as she stared into it. “Okay. Have you found sex with Northern men sort of…,” Margaery sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth, “Stiff?”

Dany cackled. “Definitely some parts. Very stiff.”

Marg threw a grape at her and laughed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

There was no way she was explaining the odd but satisfying arrangement she and Jon had, and she felt herself cringe away from even talking about sex with Jon at all. Certainly not specifics. However, from the look on Marg’s face it wasn’t Dany’s sex life she wanted to talk about at all, so she wisely steered the conversation where it was going to end anyway. “So Robb’s a bit…,” she prompted, falling quiet so Margaery could go ahead and unload her frustrations.

“Boring.” Her friend’s palm slapped down onto the table, lips twisted in aggravation. “Oh, Dany,” she said in a rush, everything flowing free now that she’d decided to let it loose, “He’s so vanilla, so unimaginative, and I don’t know what to do!” Another drink only seemed to fuel her confessional. “I asked him to tie me up and he looked at me like I’d grown a second head!”

Okay, so she definitely wasn’t going to start gushing about the amazing sex she had with Jon. That was off the table. “That sucks,” she said, and reached out to lay her hand on top of Marg’s, squeezing gently. “Could you, like, talk about it? Before you start having sex, I mean.”

With a big swallow, Margaery rolled her eyes. “Oh, Dany. You don’t understand. People like Robb and I, there’s a certain level of refinement expected of us, you know? We aren’t people who discuss sex beforehand like it’s a contact sport.”

Then she was doing it wrong, Dany thought, reconsidering that orgasm break Jon had teased her with and wondering how soon it would be rude to rush Marg out. “And yet,” Dany drawled, raising her glass to gesture, “You asked him to tie you up, didn’t you?”

“I was drunk,” Margaery blurted out. “Gods, you should have seen how shocked he was. Almost offended.” With a put-upon sigh, she put her head in her hands, auburn hair hanging in a curtain and hiding her face. “What am I going to do?”

Panic. Pure, unadulterated panic began to race through her, because it sounded an awful lot like Marg was about to break up with Robb Stark, and at last check Dany and Jon still had a full two weeks of sex on the calendar before six months was officially up, and she wasn’t about to miss out on that.

Maybe she was a horrible person. Jon would say no, but by some metrics Jon was a pretty horrible person, too.

Marg would think Dany was horrible, if she knew. Marg would likely ice her out for months if she knew about all that had gone on in secret, under the guise of dating Jon Snow. Did Dany feel guilty? Yes. Occasionally. Like when Margaery was sitting right in front of her.

Like now.

But as a testament to her possible horrid nature, the guilt wasn’t enough to prompt Daenerys to encourage her friend to part ways with her boyfriend of nearly a year.

Not yet.

“Try talking to him, Marg, I’m telling you. Just sit down, and break the ice. Ask him if there’s anything he wants to try. Once you’ve broken the seal, maybe things can change.” The wine had loosened her tongue enough to prompt one little nugget from Dany’s inner ‘Sex with Jon Snow’ vault. “That’s what Jon and I do. We take turns. One day he picks what we do, the next time I do.” She snagged a piece of cheese, mostly to keep her hand from grabbing for her phone and texting Jon.

It was his turn today.

“I don’t know.” Margaery hemmed and hawed, still unsure, toying with the stem of her wine glass.

Dany pinned her with an unflinching look. “It should be fun, Marg. Have fun with your boyfriend. Maybe in his castle?” It was a cheap trick, beneath Dany most of the time, but Marg’s green eyes lit up at the reminder.

“There is the castle,” Margaery said in a quiet voice. “An actual castle. I mean, if we get married it’ll be like being a princess.”

The silver-haired woman could think of nothing that sounded worse, but gave her friend the most encouraging smile she could. “There is that.”

“And,” Margaery continued, far more buzzed than Dany, swaying a bit in her seat, “You can always send Jon my way once you get your fill.” The jesting tone did nothing to stop Dany’s hackles from immediately rising.

“I’m sorry?” She kept her voice light and innocent, but the anger that was churning inside her began to burn hot.

She shouldn’t feel this way. She shouldn’t. She was not Jon Snow’s girlfriend. She fucked him and went on those stupid couple dates and sketched on his front porch, and yes, sometimes they slept over, but that was usually out of necessity (and the off-chance for one more good, solid fuck before one of them had to leave). The mere prospect of Jon’s hands on any tiny part of Margaery shouldn’t make her want to jump across the table and choke her childhood friend.

But Marg didn’t know that. And it was a big party foul, from that perspective.

And then Marg’s mouth opened and it only got worse.

“I mean, come on, Dany,” Margaery said, words slurring slightly. “Don’t get me wrong, I get the whole ‘blue collar’ appeal, and he’s got a great ass, and I’m sure you’re having a great time in bed with him, and that’s _awesome_.” She emphasized the last word with so much false sincerity that as soon as the words left her friend’s mouth she began to grind her teeth. “But he’s not the kind of guy you get serious about. A solid rebound, though. Especially after that shit head Daario.”

Breathe, she warned herself. Don’t start cursing. Breathe.

“It sounds,” she said carefully, “like you think Jon Snow is beneath not just you, but me as well.”

It was the snort of laughter that did it, that pushed her over the threshold from inwardly raging to outwardly furious, though Marg’s spoken response would’ve done it, too. “Dany, he’s a dead end.”

“You’re such a fucking snob.” She hissed the words out, and Margaery recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

“Excuse me?”

Dany glared at her and stood, stalking across the kitchen to put some distance between herself and the other woman as she angrily rinsed her glass. “I don’t care how much money your grandmother has, Marg, it doesn’t make you better than Jon Snow, or me, or anyone else.” She whipped around, on a roll. “Do you even hear yourself? ‘People like Robb and I’, spare me.” Jaw set, she scowled at the woman now watching her with growing hostility. “All that money, yeah, and here you are sitting at my cheap kitchen table and complaining about the fact that your sex life isn’t quite up to your expectations. You don’t even have real problems!”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Margaery snarled, then stormed to the front door. “I’m calling a fucking Uber.”

“Good,” Dany snapped out loudly, just as her front door slammed. “Bitch,” she said under her breath, stiff and tense and brittle as she gripped the cool porcelain edge of the sink with both hands. 

She didn’t move from the spot until Margaery was gone, but she didn’t text Jon, either. She needed to think, because there were things happening, inside her head, inside her heart, things that weren’t supposed too, things that were strictly forbidden.

Drogon nearly tripped her as she walked back to the table, meowing and wandering as if he was looking for something. When he repeated it, again and again, moving in a circuit she began to sort out, from the front door, then up the stairs, then down the stairs, then the back door, she realized exactly what he was he wanted.

It was what she wanted, too, and it was a very good reason not to call him at all today.

She was still too flustered, anyway, completely out of sorts, now.

Scooping Drogon up into her arms, she carried him into her studio and deposited him onto the loveseat in the room, roaming the space aimlessly herself until she gave mental permission to grab what she wanted. In a filing cabinet against the wall, in the second drawer, her prize waited, and she took great care as each sketchbook emerged from the drawer, stacking them neatly and then sitting cross-legged on the thick rug in the center of the floor.

Dany went through each page, one by one, her eyes fondly tracing the lines she’d drawn, early work-ups of Ghost, then of Jon, but he appeared sparingly in the first book she examined.

But chronologically, something was happening, something she’d see even if she were blind, and it was almost staggering, the vast ocean of denial she’d managed to wade into these past months.

It unfolded like a story, she thought, smiling despite her growing, gutting dismay at the grand picture forming before her eyes.

There were Ghost and Drogon, in the snow, a scene she’d actually caught on her phone and sketched later, the moment over too quickly to draw at the time. She and Jon had both been surprised that the pair tolerated each other so well, but regular appearances at each other’s houses sometimes required their pets to tag along, and while at first the unlikely duo had merely seemed to tolerate each other, they were thick as thieves, now.

One afternoon, Ghost had somehow managed to nudge Jon’s back door open, and the two animals had escaped into the wintry afternoon, to both Jon and Dany’s horror. They’d driven around for miles, because Ghost’s eyes weren’t what they used to be and Drogon’s arthritis was only getting worse, in addition to not strictly being an outside cat anymore.

She’d believed them both lost, and they’d returned to Jon’s house to plan another search, when a scratch had sounded at the front door.

There the two boys had sat, proudly, Drogon crouched low over a dead rat as if he was presenting it to them, Ghost sitting tall and proud beside the black cat, as though he’d helped.

On a lark, she’d spent several days after the great escape sketching out the antics she and Jon speculated they’d gotten up to, because according to Jon Ghost was a wolf trapped in a dog’s body, and when she’d asked about Drogon, he’d screwed up his face like he’d never heard a more ridiculous question.

“He’s a dragon, Dany, of course,” Jon had scoffed, and that had just been the end of it, because it was true, and the notion had delighted Dany so much that it had been easy to draw up their little adventure, those grouchy old beasts.

Now, as she saw the drawing, as she let her fingers brush each page, she saw something else had happened with remarkable ease.

She stopped on one picture in particular, the last in the set that Dany had drawn of Ghost and Drogon’s big day out, and she hadn’t had a panic attack in years, but one was building now.

It was her living room, a fire blazing in the hearth, snow falling in fat flakes outside her front windows, and on the rug before the fireplace Drogon and Ghost were curled up together, dark fur pressed against light, sleeping soundly.

That wasn’t the part that set her off. She remembered drawing that, vividly, had been so soft over how they’d really looked cuddled up and asleep that she’d known she’d draw it, immediately.

It was what she saw at the bottom of the page. The perspective was of someone standing behind the sofa, entering the room from the front hall, and this she hadn’t remembered adding at all, but there it was.

It might as well have been a scarlet letter, or a neon sign, or a fucking billboard.

There was the couch, just the top third, and that wasn’t particularly alarming, either.

No, what had her gasping for air, her stomach rolling treacherously, her heart pounding in her eardrums, was what peeked just above. Two heads were there, just the backs, leaned against each other. A couple, clearly, and it was easy to imagine they were curled together just as the pair on the floor. And just like Ghost and Drogon, it was the same contrast, the man’s dark head, topped with unruly curls, minging intimately soft silver waves of the woman beside him.

“Oh, Gods,” she whispered to the empty room, desperately seeking something to anchor her to the spot, finding only Drogon’s yellow eyes.

_Don’t deny it_ , her cat’s eyes scolded her. _You know what you did._

And she did. Gods help her, she knew. Now that there was no denying it, it was crushing down upon her, like an elephant sitting on her chest, because she was fucked, well and truly fucked this time, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do about this.

“I’m in love with Jon Snow,” she said miserably, and Drogon wisely remained silent.

His eyes seemed to mock her, though. _What did you expect to happen?_

She couldn’t tell him.

Not now, not ever.

It was clear what she needed to do - enjoy these last two weeks of sex, part ways, and maybe just go back to seeing each other in passing at the grocery store, or when she needed a new ceiling fan.

Just thinking it made her want to curl up into a ball and just be numb and drunk forever, so she could stop feeling like this, like she did right this second.

She had to tell him. 

Just thinking it made her want to buy a ticket back to Essos and live out front of the Great Pyramid, begging for change, because it would be so pathetic to confess to him that she’d been this stupid. The one thing she’d convinced herself was an impossibility had happened, and she knew herself too well to believe she’d be able to keep it to herself.

Making a fool of herself seemed second nature at this point.

The idea that popped into her head made her blink rapidly and shake her head with force, as though she could fling it out and be done with it.

Once it was there, though, it took root, and the more she tried to convince herself it was an even worse idea than thinking she’d be able just walk away from everything that had happened over nearly six months free and clear. That wasn’t happening. She was going to be pretty fucked up over this even if she didn’t make some stupid confession of her feelings.

But if she’d learned anything in her time with Jon, she’d learned to stop letting her fear hold her back so much from the things she wanted. She wasn’t even completely sold that she wanted this, considering the risk to her own heart if he didn’t feel the same, but maybe she didn’t need to be completely sure. Maybe kinda sure was enough to test the waters.

If he didn’t? If he laughed in her face?

She supposed she’d just hope he’d done such excellent renovations on her own house that it would sell quickly.

Her hand shook so hard when she pulled out her phone that it took several tries to unlock it successfully.

She punched in a number she knew by heart, despite the bile rising in her throat that told her she’d need to move if this ended in a flaming shitball of disaster, as it likely would.

Dany didn’t bother with the usual niceties when her brother answered.

“Rhaegar? I need a favor.”


End file.
